The morning was somber,
Lonely,
Methodically, she pretended
And prepared.
Carefully applying war paint
For a war she'd rather
Not fight.
Sleepy eyes lined,
Red screaming dots covered;
Muffled.
Hair arranged quickly
In a semi-pleasing placement.
Lips livened with
A bright sheen,
Music pouring into ears,
And then she's off.

The halls whine
With impatience,
And ring with the silence
Of inadequacy

Glass bottle empty,
Thirst hardly slowed.
Something spins,
Focus can't focus.
But so thirsty.
Legs go limp
When you try for more water,
Spilling half
Until your lips,
Dry and cracked
Find the opening,
And flood the desert.
You're still coughing here and there.
And your mind goes wild.
Thinking of all the things
You usually think
Except with more intensity.
Because suddenly,
Everything has a
Morose backstory.
And some of it scares you.
Now you can feel
Each ****** thought
Take power physically.
And that is terrifying
And sensational.
You try to calm your frazzled
Head by holding it,
And focusing on
The water-
A normal task of drinking
That hardly feels normal.
But that's all you can do.

She resonates intimidation,
Playfully,
Air of confidence
Strewn within
Loose, effortless hair.
A smile warm
And attractive
Despite imperfect teeth.
Wings; black and inked
Make her eyes fly.

She's alive with voice,
Drawn images
Making their ways on to skin.
Alive with enthusiasm
For all things smoked.
And it's impossible
Not to light her cigarettes-
Which you give to her-
Without some sensation
Of love.
As you watch,
Her lips clasp the filter:
Pulling in fire to light
Her buzz.

You want to be a part
Of the same songs she sings.
You want her in your life
As a constant.
Almost like I know I used to be,
Except your craving for her
Doesn't diminish
After large doses of time.

I'm a novelty,
Sizzling out.

She's a drug,
An addiction
Just beginning.
And we both know
How you are
About those.

There comes a moment
When you're too restless
For your skin,
For the day,
For the things you have,
And lack.
Too restless to handle the people around you.
When you feel ****** up
But don't really know why
When you're anxious
Regarding one person's feelings
About you
When your insecurities start to drown you
Little by little
Until your breath is gone,
Caught by ocean.
And you find yourself
Unwilling to go in
To a house
Where people lurk,
Waiting to see a smiling face
That you aren't sure you can muster.
And you can't go in
Because tears catch in your eyes
And you gag
When you think of certain things
And your throat is raw from
Holding back
A cry too long.
So you sit
And let yourself cry-
Just a little
In the driveway. In the cold.
Alone.
Which is how you want it
But also how you hate it.

The dismal scene
Of church
And parking lot
Played before her hazy eyes.
God absent from the pews,
The moon,
And wherever the **** else
People believed He could be.

She sat on the parking stop,
Knees close.
The night air lapped at her arms,
Raising hell beneath her skin,
And Satan
In her yearning bones.
Her heart beat
At varying abnormal paces.
Her stomach stirred
In craving.
She scratched at her ribs;
A little too hard,
Bruising ****** skin.

God was gone.

And for a moment all she had was a sympathetic truck,
Parked next to her.
But then
She knew she didn't even have that.

Images of her childhood
Sunday mornings, accompanying grandma to church
Appeared as targets
For mind's gun.
She brought from behind her,
The gasoline.
And ran
Without hesitation,
Skipping gleefully as she poured.

Then lit a small pool.
And watched as the church
Erupted into burning
Chaos and
Forgiving embers.
Then she left to satiate
Bitter craving.

I'm starting to feel like
They don't matter.
Parents here and there
Strewn about uselessly.
Because all I really had
Was my mom.
And she's beginning to slip away too.

My words
Seeking support
Are trapped in
Smoked out throat
While she utters
Her own life,
Controlling
Conversation
And the car,
With wheel between her hands.
While she talks and talks about
A life I'm seldom
Interested in.
And yet I lend the support
Anyway,
Because she has dreams now
That need completion.
And there is barely
Any room for mine.

She chose him.

She chose him to be
A pertinent aspect
Of her forever
Full sum of forever.
He who had shown her
New songs to glitter her
Sweeping thoughts,
Green flowers to dust
Such thoughts.
So when she chose him,
really,
She chose herself
She who had become
Thought broom,
Greens,
Stony welcomer
Of new.

He'd changed her
In a manner
In which she liked,
The outcome
Worthy of self pride.
She chose
Songs
She chose
Leaves
She chose herself
Which
He'd made her become.
And why not stay with him-
The man who had
Coaxed out
Someone deeper, older within herself,
Someone who
She herself had been searching for.
This lazy thought
And that
Made her choose.
Him.
Because he was the leaves and
Nothing more.