11:24 p.m.

i catalogue my frostbite and write about a life i'm done with in a poem i'll never finish.

i do not want

to be a part of

this darkness.

i do not want

to be a

black hole.

i make up some metaphors for how i'm feeling, coming up with something that's as blue and as empty as my heart. veins and vessels, veins and vessels. when the few family i love ask how i am, i answer, but i bury the truth a few feet underground. sometimes i like the dirt that separates us so i hide the shovels, i stamp the grave, i lock the coffin, but i beg them to dig.

11:41 p.m.

these thoughts can't fit in my hands, they spill over the sides of the page, as flammable as gasoline. dripping, dripping. death whispers ways for us to meet and i grow even more desperate to see it, face it, kiss it, embrace it. there is a welcome mat on my lips and a landing pad on my forehead. is an ending a want or a need?

11:46 p.m.

i am so sick of feeling like this.

how long do i have to keep going? how long should i?

11:53 p.m.

no words, and i feel clogged. time passes slowly now. i can't fill the seconds between the minutes between the hours. i regret every breath i take, but i can't seem to let myself choke. i tangle my throat into knots. inhale, exhale, exhale exhale e x h a l e but i am weaker than i thought.

11:56 p.m.

i close my curtains and slip back into old habits. i pull up my sheets, i let the tears roll down my cheeks. i let the night win, i give into my thoughts. there must be something to live for

2:01 a.m.

but there is not.

The worst thing about rain is the

wanting to dance in it, and you

sixteen hours away, there are only

miles

and vast loneliness

between us.

When small talk

swells

the air in the room empties,

and the only breath is inside of

your body, but

it is not mine for having.

I think I broke my neck once, in a

past life.

I probably did it

craning

to see you.

I can't love people the way they love me, I don't even know why they love me in the first place, but I know I love them back and it's not my fault that I can't express it. I'm working on it; yes, but it can't just magically appear out of nowhere. I feel like everyone will leave me if I can't show interest or affection, yet I want those things shown toward me.

fragility of life

[the empty feeling at two am] nothing goes away anymore

i’m stuck with identical curving lines down my wrists

and the thought that “something’s changed” -because i don’t understand myself anymore

and all i know how to do is stare at the ceiling

i love myself and i love the whole fucking world! (is what i must repeat)

what have i become? and what have you become?

suicidal dreamers (!) and yet i still cannot forget.

and yet i’m staring at the ceiling

Oh

I know you

And I can see

how you lie

to my face

oh

i don't want to care

anymore

but i do

i do

"i do"

the words i told you

when you asked

me

but i should

have said

"i dont"

Can you feel my heart beating?

Can you see my wrists bleeding?

I'm asking for a person

To save me from myself.

Can you feel my hands shaking?

Can you see my heart breaking?

I'm asking for a person

To save me from this hell.

Can you feel my life falling?

Can you hear my soul calling?

I'm asking for a person

To make me feel all right.

Can you feel my hope fading?

Can you hear my life changing?

I'm asking for a person

To stay with me all night.

it doesn't go away

this weight

perpetual and pounding

like a headache beneath my breast

my gut is stone my head heavy

I am a bag of cement

slung over the shoulder

of a man too tired from carrying me to be gentle anymore

and I wish I could simply

release

if only to unburden him

if only to stop hurting him

if only to be held gently

if only to be his