I'm that friend
Who you ask to the mall
On those weekends
Where it's so nice
And sunny
That everyone's at the beach.

I'm that friend
That you walk home
With
On days
Where everyone else
Has mountains of
Homework.

I'm the friend
That you ignore
When they text you
Because they're so
THICK
That they're
Too stupid
And
Desperate
To take the hint.

I will never be your first choice.
But I can settle for last.

If it means
Going to the mall
With you
On those weekends
Where it's so nice
And sunny
That everyone's at the beach.

If it means
Walking home
With you
On days
Where everyone else
Has mountains of
Homework.

And if it means
Getting that one text
Saying that
You
"Have to go"
And you'll
"Ttyl."

I'll settle for that.

9-1-1, What is your emergency?
I seemed to have lost my sense of urgency.
I froze.
Which is funny, because undoubtedly
You used to be the one cold as ice.
I sat there.
My thoughts hovered around my mouth
But lacked any sort of volume,
Thus remaining a mystery to the operator.
I needed help though.
And usually I turned to you in these situations
But since you fled the scene
Fearing the certainty of an imaginary apology
I turned to the only logical choice left in my semi-delusional brain.
I've been attacked, please help me*
I finally mustered up the energy to form
Sounds similar enough to that phrase.
Just enough so this woman could send me
Someone with the proper credentials and
Experience for such bizarre circumstances.
The policemen arrived.
They investigated the scene.
Doing their due diligence while I laid motionless on the pavement.
They looked for clues.
Studied for anything that could lead them to you.
I guess my words weren't grounded in truth.
And although I knew only one suspect remained at-large
They carried on with no substantial leads or possible breakthroughs.
The only arrest that occurred
Was the false imprisonment of my heart in yours.
There was no bail set and parole will likely be denied.
What a deadly criminal at large.

And she painted her skies gray,
because everything else was dull
in comparison
to him.

In the morning she stumbles out of bed,
Gets ready for the day with a brain full of dread.
Sixteen hours of torture and hatred and malice
And then, back to bed where it fades into blackness.

She covers her scars with pants and a sweater.
She wishes that somehow her life could get better.
She walks out of the door with her head down low.
Her “friends” pass her by without a hello.

At lunch (twelve hours left) she sit quietly and pretends
she doesn't exist, she does her best to simply blend.
She's home (eight more hours), still working through the stress
of another day gone, and her life's still a mess.

Homework, then dinner and being brave
for her family.  She smiles while hoping for the grave.
"Four more hours, and then I can sleep."
That's what she thinks when she's trying not to weep.

With one hour left, she pulls out the blade
Her spirit is broken.  Her skin is frayed.
As tears mix with blood, sleep doesn't come.
One hour turns to three or four and then some.

The sleepless night turns to morning, and it's time to start again.
Sixteen more hours of hopelessness filling her head.
“One more day,” she whispers to herself.
She does it every morning, puts her self-hatred on the shelf.

She goes through the cycle, still wishing for dying
but makes it through fifteen hours without even crying.
Until one day, she's numb with nothing to feel.
It's like watching a movie.  It's all so unreal.

Now, she cuts not in sadness, worry, or strife.
She cuts to bring feeling back into her life.
She paints scars on her skin like an artist at work.
She welcomes the pain, like a friend, with a smirk.

Death is not her goal, but would she really care
if one day she was finally broken beyond repair?

My fingertips are stained
with the flashback of your presence,
the memories caved in
the lines of my palm,
and my veins carry down
the ink to my heart
writing in my soul
"love never seems to last."