i.

this feeling aches,

moans, presses deep,

pulls me close

ii.

i am so tired—

so tired, so tired

iii.

water rushing in my

ears, roaring melancholy through

canals to brain, sending shattering

pain through each responding wave

iv.

kaleidoscoping emotions

into heavy, burning

colors, blinding eyes

from the spinning

reality

v.

victim to my own

pressing, pulling

melancholy

vi.

hi, hello, hey

(it’s been so long)

—i miss you—

terribly—

vii.

i miss you!

false cheeriness—

pretending i’m not

overcome with this

wretched melancholy!

viii.

but i mean it, i mean it

in the worst of ways—

i miss you—

ix.

can we talk?

please? i do

not mind what is

said, just want to

see your name

jump across

my screen

x.

i’m swinging between

deafening silence

and overwhelming thought,

crushing existence

and burning apathy—

pushing

and pulling—

i cannot

b r e a t h e —

xi.

i don’t know what i want

(silence) (to not want)

(to be myself again)

xii.

i’m trying—i’m trying really hard—

xiii.

i have eradicated

all but a few wants

so i do not know what

it is i can answer you with

xiv.

why find help

when someone

else is a

lot more broken

than i?

xv.

how can i look forward to

anything at all, knowing

i’ll sabotage it, in the end?

xvi.

DO YOU WANT MY HEART OF HEARTS?

xvii.

i miss you terribly.

(please come back)

(please)

i.

you are quiet in your ways

(can you recognize my silence?)

ii.

i am so—

dumb (not in a mean way, simply fact)—

why must i act

this way?

iii.

WHAT IS THIS?

m e l a n c h o l y ?

m e l a n c h o l y !

iv.

i feel—i am—so sick,

but cowardice—doubt—fear

—anger—

grows like moss between

my aching bones

and i stubbornly “do not”—

do not!—do not!—do not!

v.

(stand alone)

(tame your thoughts)

(leave them on the ground)

(crush them beneath)

(the toe of your)

(shoe)

vi.

crumpled spine

like accordion—

play me loud in

front of biggest

crowds

vii.

(still)

(yourself?)

viii.

i’m so sorry

for throwing

my poisonous

purple claws

around your

already-bruised

neck, sorry

for letting my

anger seep

through my

words, to hurt

you (even if)

(you don’t say)

(anything about)

(it, but brush)

(away those)

(apologies, saying)

(that there’s no)

(need—but)

(it still hurts,)

(that anger, it makes)

(everything taste)

(so s o u r—)

ix.

LET it GO? (i’m sorry)

(i’m sorry) WHERE?

where should i put

all this melancholy?

where should i let myself

go, in a place where the

wreckage might not consume

anyone else?

(where?) WHERE? where?

x.

would that be okay?

with such anger, hurt,

and sorrow?

xi.

(I DON’T WANT)

(YOU TO KNOW—)

xii.

let me go!

let me free!

i do not wish to

hurt you with

who i’ve come to be—

i.

twisting,

falling through

the sky, reaching

right out to you

(to when have)

(you gone?)

so swift

in all your

“LEFT”s

and your

“LEAVING”s

(to when have)

(you gone?)

you do not reach

back through the

cloudless skies

towards me, but

i cannot seem to

pull back my

own hands,

too

(to when have)

(you gone?)

ii.

and i miss you,

i miss you, in

such a burning, aching

way

(i miss you)

(i miss you)

iii.

i wish you’d come back

(please, oh, please)

(come back)

iv.

i am singing melancholy,

melancholy,

m e l a n c h o l y

i.

this hollowed out space

aches and moans in place,

seeps deep to the bone,

as i roam, all tired and (alone)

ii.

crooked lines splitting

darkly along my skin,

wells up beating, bruising,

bloody red through moss-made skin

iii.

press of moisture

pulling close, whispers

and asks if i

know what i am

iv.

i am so small,

so fragile

v.

to when have

you g o n e ?

vi.

a hollow space

cries out from me,

sings melancholy

deep within my

S O U L

vii.

you all are so alike

in all your twisting

ways

viii.

pull and press—

ix.

(i miss you)

i.

world is spinning

and everything is so quiet,

so deafening in all

this silence

(i just want to go away)

(there’s so much to say)

(there’s so much to do)

(there’s so much to think about)

(i miss you)

ii.

my voice stretches thin

along this space, this

aching, moaning space

between you and i,

and all these other voices,

they cloud my head—

they say, “break here,”

“space there,” “let your voice”

“split the skies,” and i’m so

tired, so tired i might cry—

my voice bounces once, twice,

along the ground, shakes

no one but me to the floor,

and it says, “I’M TIRED,” says,

“CAN’T YOU HEAR,” asks,

“I’M ALIVE, DON’T YOU KNOW?”

and i whisper back that i don’t.

i whisper back that i am afraid.

i whisper and i look you in the eye,

hold the absent gaze residing there,

and i ask if you, too, don’t know

that i am

alive

losing track of time

while i’m stuck in traffic,

headed right for your voice,

thinking of all the things we

haven’t said at all—

and i ache to forgive,

to move forward, to live and let go,

but it seems like my mind finds every

opportunity it can to remind me

that you haven’t said a word

and i probably shouldn’t say any more.

and i’m sorry, i’m sorry,

i’m really so f-f-f—sorry. i’m sorry.

i wish i knew what else to say,

wish i knew if i should say anything at all,

wish i knew how to ask you if you

even want to change your ways,

wish i knew how to tell you that

i want to help it hurt you less, but that i

can’t, not if you don’t say anything back when

i ask.

and i’m sorry. i miss you.

i love you. i want to say that i’m not mad at

you—never, never, never—and i wasn’t,

i wasn’t mad at you, but the more

that i think about it, the more

things don’t add up and the more

things don’t make sense and the more

i wish you were here and the more

i wish you’d say something back, because

i’ve thought myself around infinite,

pulling the strings of stars until

they came crashing down on me, burning

hot trails against the icy sky that is my skin.

i wish you’d say yes or no—tell me if

i was right to think it’d be better if i said

nothing more to you. and i know it’s probably

selfish to wish for you to say something—

anything, even, as much as it hurts—

but i find i don’t really care

as much as i thought i would.

(please come back)

(and please don’t go)

((again))

(please come back,)

(please?)

((i’m sorry.))

i.

your quiet defiance

is divided into

smallest parts—

twisted smile,

hearty laugh,

crooked,

searching

gaze.

ii.

i do not sleep

when you come near,

with heavy beating heart

and loftily held stare,

your quicksilver knife

cuts of jokes,

beaded sweat ran thin

as you ask what is so

wrong with me, that

i take such offense

at your advances

iii.

it does not take

but a few ill-placed

jokes aside to

readily decide

what it is you do

and do not know

iv.

this and that

is all i need!

v.

split and sliced my lips,

sharp teeth drawing

blood, and i

am not tired enough

to care

vi.

tree bark eyes

blink back at me

from crooked birchwood tree

vii.

i’m sorry that this hurts

you &

viii.

sap-burned gaze

tracks me from here to there

with heavy birchwood stare

ix.

(it hurts less and less, the more and more)

(that you leave)

x.

red filtered eyes,

everything shades

of blood—heavy

with my discontent,

heavy with my

drooping ways

xi.

i’m sorry

(i’m so sorry)

eighty-five butterflies torn into my skin,

sewed heavy down with sharpied lines,

spilled over fingers, across wrists, up and

down my arms

//

two hundred m&ms, organized

by color into rows of five,

spilling forth from bag like

stars from sky

//

careful, now—it isn’t the end of the world,

just a simple “no,” and not a word meant

to harm—no need to take it any wrong

way, no need to fill in the gaps in between

the words we cannot say

//

she asked me how i was

and i had no answer to give but “not okay,”

and she asked, then, if there was anything

she could do, and i thought of my own

cowardice, said “no,” smiled, and asked

about her, in turn

//

worse than before,

or perhaps i’m not, and i’m just

riding along the waves until i hit some

sort of stalemate, where i’ll be faced with

the decision to keep living or not,

and the scary thing is, i don’t

know what i’ll choose, but

i hope i’ll think long and hard

about every one of you

before i make my choice

(i think you deserve)

(that much, but so much more)

((and i’m sorry, for that))

//

i think i need to go to the doctor.

have someone take a look inside my mind,

ask me some words and have me

respond in turn, maybe get some sort of

help, if it’s at all possible,

because i’m tired and i’m tired and i’m tired

and i think i’m barely hanging on