I’m afraid to speak up
because it gives you another item
to add to the list as to why
we are not compatible.
After all of these years
it must hold quite the caliber.
And whatever I say seems to come out wrong
because you dismiss me as being hateful and jaded
and that you no longer wish to converse with me,
as if depression is another term for being
a hormonal teenager and that it is contagious.
You can’t beg me to tell you what’s on my mind
and then close your eyes during all of the unpleasant parts
because these unpleasantries are my reality.
I’ve learned to only offer edited monologues.
You seem to stick around.
But I feel more empty than when you left.

you hold me with your sweater
on lonely winter nights
Whiskey repeats your name
but it never sounds right.

and I’m no more for divinity
for this course we’ve been through
the hell that is you
what I could do to deserve this.

now your just words
an intricate design
just continue to stare
you lose meaning in time.

the girls that took my place
the title meant something then
but there’s so many of them
I learned I was never different.

and you call me hateful and jaded
which is probably true
but it’s the only way I know
to survive knowing you.

I hope their brown hair eases your pain
and their blue eyes help you forget.
and have unbelievable ***
and forget the hearts you posses.

but don’t worry about me
not even years from now.
I can look back and say
I know how a bullet sounds.

your skin tastes empty, my love,
sweet fallacies on my teeth
pulled your words from my tongue
how bitter they could be.

I memorized the curves of your back
and the rising and falling of shoulder blades.
what I remember most of all is the
sound of my voice begging you to see me.

the air was cold
you never turned around
scratching your spine
biting your collar
please see me.

kiss my ribs and hold my bones
tracing the veins along
my lungs collapsed
begging your shadow to stay.

I was a child
dancing in the eyes of monsters
alive, angry, desperate for nothing to settle
to keep moving, to hurt so little.

“I hate when people ask what I am thinking. I never really know how to answer that question because, quite frankly, I don’t even know. Over the years my mind has seemed to transform into this hive, thoughts flying around in a gray cloud, each one having their own separate buzz. And all of these sounds fuse together into one confusing and paralyzing hum to where I can’t identify a single thought. So I don’t know how to answer the question as to what I am thinking because there are so many thoughts crawling on top of each other to get out. And so I choose to just be silent. Being silent is just so much easier.”
I looked up at the man. He appeared to be only a few years older than me, maybe in his mid-twenties. His hair, dishwater blonde, was swept to the side, the kind of style fraternity boys at my previous school used to always wear when they had to dress up for chapter. His eyes were so vividly blue. Every time that he looked at me I would stay still, purely out of fear that he found me transparent.
But he had an amused grin spreading across his face, dimples carving into his cheeks. It was a common smile of his: one not of understanding, but of assumption. “And what are you thinking of right now?” Dr. Smith asked.
I rolled my eyes, accidentally releasing two unknown tears that rimmed my lash line. I met his eyes, gritting my teeth. “You’re not listening.”

I hate this. The feeling of complete incompleteness when I leave him that tends to ambush me moments after I leave his house. As if I had lost a limb, a leg if you will. Yes, I can find substitutes. I can find a prosthetic, but it's not the same. I will always feel the pain of losing that leg. I will always slightly limp, the new one does not work as well as the original. He is a part of me.

So when I leave, I spend hours and maybe even days locked in my room. I wear his sweaters day and night, his smell clinging to the fibers. I read the books he gives me, and sometimes it feels like we're reading it together. I listen to the playlist he sent me and I swear I can hear  him singing.

And I know I'll see him again. But what am I to do in the meantime while bleeding out?