I will hold the universe just to see you smile, again.

When a tiny child looks up
he is really
his own father looking back in time---
A fool there was
and he makes his prayer
to his mother's ****
to which he is a witness
(Even as you and I!)
To a rag and a bone
and a hank of hair
A child never wants to see
its mother's ****
once it's gotten a good look at it---
(We called her the woman who did not care)
But the fool, he called her his lady fair
(Even as you and I.)
& spends its life searching
for one that looks just like it---

I hide behind these lines.
In my head.
On my arm.
Around my throat.

My life is full of lines.
Learning them.
Cutting them.
Writing them.
Hearing them.
Living them.
Breathing them.
Wanting them.
Needing them.

Cutting isn’t going to **** me.
One painkiller won’t either.
If one can’t **** me, two surely can’t either.
Two isn’t working anymore,
Better take another, and another, and another, and another. (another 4, get it?)
Soon the bottles are empty,
Just like me.

I don’t have enough will to **** myself.
And I hate that I reached out.
And I hate that my friends care.
And I hate that I’m on medication.
I hate myself.
Because I hate myself.

And I hate myself for typing my thoughts,
For someone, maybe to see.
I want to date someone, but don’t want someone to care about me before I go.

Look at all the lines I’ve already done.
They still aren’t enough.
I know I need to get better,
But **** it.



I’m finally happy. (I̶f̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶s̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶)

I blame you for making me write all these sonnets
I tried to make the best of it, but five?
How in the ******* world am I supposed to write five?
Doesn’t each sonnet take the course of a week?
And it definitely seems that we don’t have five weeks
To write five pristine perfect sonnets
I’d rather read fifty poems than write five of these stupid things
I’d like the meet the man who decided these poems
Had to be fourteen lines, stylized rhymes
I’d say, go to hell with you and this torturous format
Instead of making me write these many poems
All in the same style, all droaning on in my mind
Like an endless treadmill of poem-writing
I say I’ll do better on the next assignment, but truthfully
I’m improvising

i will love
you. i

know you
are hiding some-
where. for-

ever so far,
it is still
out there.

In my words, she read despair
A tone that rung so crystal clear
She took her meaningless, and loss of innocence
And watched as my heart began to break

In my voice she heard the fear
As my words fell into her ears
I couldn't bear to play it straight
As she watched me start to break

Thankless and adamant
Not a drop went to waste
I can't forget, a single day
As she laughed, and watched me start to break

**** it
I lied
I don't need to justify
My time, wasted with you in memory

Funny how things look so clear

Standing here, all alone
Surrounded by the ghost that haunt the
Air I breath, screaming now
Founded on the things I predicate

You watched my heart start to break

In my words, she read despair
A tone that rung so crystal clear
She took her meaningless, and loss of innocence
And watched as my heart began to break