a split second headache,
a forced examination of fight or flight and thinking i've been here --
but not like this
not a sight that made me want to swallow my pride
although
not looking, not being able to look, wanting to never look away
ridiculous, i know
thinking about grass and legs intertwined and suddenly realizing
i can't breathe
but another glace another half second do i run do i hide and i wonder
isn't it better to die like this, to suffocate
under your eyes?

sometimes i look up and all i can think is, my god, she's beautiful.
and sometimes all i want to hear is your voice, the way you get excited, the way you sound saying anything or saying my name.
And I know.
And all I want is to hear your point of view, your words, your thoughts, and I never give you time to say them. All I want is everything I push away. And I can feel this happening again, I can feel it coming to an end and I can feel this cab hurtling to a collision and I am trying so hard to stop it and I don't know how
I have never tried so hard to keep something, never tried so hard to be so good
And I have never failed this badly.

I wish I had more to offer than anxiety and suicidal tendencies.
I wish I could string you a poem of beaded metaphors,
of  eloquent rhetorical devices,
but the truth is I am not a master bard.

you pour your soul into a bottle, siphon away your last redeeming qualities
and think, perhaps if i write a poem, i can save myself
perhaps if you wrote a poem, you would condemn somebody else.

you squint into the vial, notice the curlicues of ash
and that's weird, because you haven't burned anything recently
nothing except yourself

i thought about donning that visage, of veiling myself in black
i thought about a lot of things
of bruises on perfectly smooth arms
of the silver sheen of a sharp edge
of trying out ceramics and seeing if they're all that great

i remembered what you're supposed to do
or what everyone says you're supposed to do.
lay out your belongings in an orderly fashion
leave a note
what would i say? no one would take the time to read it
no one ever has

maybe this is the note
the note they'll never find
the note even i don't understand

all i wanted to do was talk to you
just talk
just to hear your voice, just to exchange a few words
and i don't know how this happened
i'm lost
and they ******* **** at making maps

and i am jimmi simpson all over again, dying not one not two not even three times
the younger generation of being possessed, of putting your points
in unexpected places
of being utterly unliked and useless

what's wrong with me?
things i don't even feel but i always lead it the same way
i always **** it up
i always do, every time, without fail
i'm no good to anybody, and least of all myself
and the only reason i'm still alive is because i keep thinking
that maybe just ******* maybe someone cares
because i keep thinking but what if
well **** the what ifs

no, the only ******* reason i'm still here is because i'm too much of a ******* coward to **** myself.

there are only two people in this house, and neither of them particularly
human.
you're a fiend.
you slither into the hearts of people, make them like you, and then you grow dark
and then you grow cold
and then you choke them in all the worst ways.

and the best part is, you insist you aren't doing it.

it's cute to watch you try to be something
try to be worth anything
try to be something light when you were only ever the heavy blackness.

you should take comfort in the fact that you have the one talent, at least; ******* things up so perfectly.

why don't you just do us all a favor and die?

you were fine.
you were fine, and you could breathe and you were dry
and now you want to *****
all you think is breathe breathe breathe and you type
type the same words over again
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
and maybe it will change something eventually, even though it didn't work
the first time.