an empty glass

an expectation

a goal.

to fill the glass

so i can look a certain way

i pour out my soul

and do what i can

to reach the brim

but with every sacrifice i make,

and every drop i place,

the glass grows deeper

so i skip some more meals

and run until i can hardly breathe

just so i can get there

but it’s still not enough

and the glass continues to grow

so i throw my whole life away

and empty every part of my being

just to provide enough water

to reach the top

and i don’t stop.

i can’t stop.

even when my stare turns dizzy

and my cheeks start to hollow

and my hair falls out, first strands, then clumps

but it’s not enough.

even though chills cover my body even when it’s hot

and my meals consist of cardboard rice cakes and diet coke

and my mind is going blank

and every ounce of myself is circling the drain,

i don’t stop

because the glass never stops wanting.

needing.

begging.

for more

overflowing but never full

a bottomless pit

an itch in my brain

that’s never satisfied

please,

won’t you have mercy

on my starving soul?

i stay alive because i worry that i'll miss out on something important.

so what would be an example of something important that i fear i'll miss if i am not alive?

weddings.

for some reason, promising someone your soul and your heart is everything to me.

movies.

the smell of fresh popcorn is something that will never get old.

reading.

from hideous romance and thrilling mysteries to pretentious poetry and innocuous prose.

music.

especially the songs that make me want to dance on the rooftops, or even cry until i can't anymore.

concerts.

when i sing and scream so loud that i lose my voice the following day.

kissing.

tangled tongues and velvet lips. the whole idea is just pure cinematic solidarity.

laughing.

the kind that makes your ribs sore.

the list is endless, and even though life isn't, these things make it seem that way.

i watch you laugh with her the way you used to laugh with me.

and i smile through the hurt as i watch you change everything we had.

cause you moved on,

but i don't think i'm ready for that.

you have inside jokes but you can't recall ours.

we were walking on clouds, but now i have to walk these graveyards alone.

cause you moved on,

but i don't think i'm ready for that.

cause you loved me but you moved on just as fast

she's not coming back.

no.

she's not coming back.

i shut my computer.

she's not coming back.

not again.

she's not coming back.

please.

she's not coming back.

i shut the bathroom door behind me.

she's not coming back.

i turn the handle to fill the tub.

she's not coming back.

blazing hot water.

she's not coming back.

please.

she's not coming back.

don't make me do it.

she's not coming back.

the scorching water envelops my body.

she's not coming back.

i'm sorry.

it's cold outside.

i think it's always been cold ever since you left me.

you used to give me your jacket.

it always smelled like you.

it had a vanilla scent, with a touch of tobacco.

but now, i'm cold again and i don't have your jacket to make me feel warm.

it's raining.

i used to hate the rain

until you told me you loved it.

then i loved it too.

but now, the rain reminds me of you.

i don't like the rain anymore.

it's dark outside.

we used to go star-gazing.

you knew every constellation.

i don't remember the last time i saw sunshine.

never-ending nights.

maybe the sun does come out every day,

but now, i can't see it anymore.

i may have been broken before i met you...

but you demolished me.

she tells herself she's okay.

but i know everytime she goes on a jog, she runs until she can't breathe.

she tells herself she's okay.

but i know she cries on the weekends.

she tells herself she's okay.

but i know she takes boiling hot showers just to feel something.

she tells herself she's okay.

but i know, her one wish, is to have nothing in her veins.

I hear my sister's phone from her room. She's going through her camera roll. I know this because I hear my mothers' voice faintly, and my mother is dead.

I hear the shower running. My brother is in there. He's been in there for a while. I like the sound of the shower, it's rather calming.

I hear pages turning. The sounds of crisp paper being creased. My younger brother is reading in his room. He never stops reading. He wants to be a NASA scientist one day.

I hear the TV. It's on but no one is down there. I'm pretty sure it's Greys Anatomy.

I hear the dryer. It's quite loud, hard to miss. The tumbling of clothes, the machine vibrating. Laundry just seems to be neverending.

I hear my breathing. It's constant and quiet, but a little shaky.

I hear my computer. The keys are being tapped ever so gently. My fingers are moving very quickly but smoothly, not making a single error. That's the sound of pure happiness, because I'm doing what I love most. Writing.

I'm an overthinker.

I can't help but wonder why something happens.

I stare at a text I sent hours ago, wondering how the recipient will respond.

I'm a people pleaser.

I can't help but think about what others think of me.

I always seem to need everyone's approval.

I like watching scary movies, but never at night.

I tie my shoes a little weird.

I still wish upon the stars like a little kid.

I pretend I live in New York City when no one else is around.

I listen to music when I feel sad.

I write stories when I feel empty.

I tell myself things I know aren't true.

I do my homework ahead of time.

I name inanimate objects that surround me to make me feel less alone.

I worry too much.

I cry too much.

I think too much.