Once it was easy.

“anything worth having doesn’t come easy.”

That’s funny.

Now, i imagine telling all of this to an ex lover.

“It was so easy to love you.”

Confusion, offense, flattery; ambiguity.

It’s so easy to lie in someone’s arms tell them you love them.

It’s easy to fall in love with your greatest friends.

It’s easier to pour gasoline onto a fire, than to smother it with your bare hands, or wet it down with your words.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying.”

It’s not easy to fall asleep upset with someone you love.

It’s not easy to say goodbye for the thousandth time and swear you mean it every time.

It’s easy to apologise when you don’t mean it.

It’s even harder when you do, but have not a single idea why you are remorseful.

It begins to mean nothing.

No matter the difficulty in the lessons of love, you begin to pick the road most frequently traveled.

Worn paths, tattered with the ashes of love letters, and lonely foot prints of millions of broken hearts; all with no where to go.

somewhere, the owners for these mangled hearts have met the same fate, huddling, freezing together on their lonesome.

Sharing stories lost to time: of kisses, dates and hand-holding. They’ve all met here. near the still warm embers of an angry flame, burning with the ferocity to keep roasting for all winters to come.

This ex lover looks at me, the way one looks at a crazy lady laying prostrate and moaning.

He doesn’t understand. but one day, i’m sure he will.

he doesn't care about the pretty young girl holding his hand.

it's so much easier to forget the way it feels than relive the love in aching .

how does he teach himself to forget to love her?

how can he teach himself to forget the way she used to kiss him?

he doesn't care about the pretty young girl on her knees for him.

he misses his skin burning, untouched now.

this makes me wonder, does he know what it's like to be a ghost?

a fading ghoul in someone's life?

wailing and moaning, tripping about like a poltergeist begging for anyone to acknowledge them.

burning for eternity, praying to whoever will listen to keep their name alive.

who will teach him this?

who will turn him into this apparition?

certainly not you.

some other broad, a green eyed whore, someone you never liked.

he'll love her the way you loved him.

he'll suck her off and she'll disappear, like some magic trick,

he'll wonder how she did it, no smoke, no mirrors.

he'll sink like you did.

he won't think once about the pretty young girl who used to his hand, or her broken heart, or the gun.

there's always someone out there so magnificently selfish.

someone who won't look twice at the vulnerable fool lying in their bed, dreaming about the tomorrow that will never come.

There's that pretty girl. She wasn't always the pretty girl, to me at least. She was smart, but before that, rude. 

before that, a stranger, but I liked her- even when she was the rude girl.

There's the smart girl, that smart girl has brown hair, you know- you don't.

When I talked to the smart girl, I gave her my notebook. I scribbled out an essay. 

I knew it was bad, but the smart girl knew it was awful, but she smiled at me- she's pretty. you know- we do, actually.

I turned the essay in, I got an A.

I talked to the pretty girl. I wrote my poems, and she read them, and she smiled, god she so pretty. 

how many lines are in a sonnet? 

do you underline the title of a poem? or a script?

I talked to the pretty girl, she's my friend. I held her hand, because we're friends. I spent the night with her, and I held her, we're friends.It felt so right,

how many lines are in a sonnet?

Her hand belongs in mine,

do you underline the title of a poem, C?

She's my friend, and he skin is so soft,

do you underline the title of a poem, C?

When I held her, I smelt her shampoo. I knew she wasn't mine, her soft skin wasn't mine to touch, her hands not mine to hold, but when I'm on her left, she moves to mine.

she says it feels right. 

I talked to the rude girl. She's very smart, you know- of course, I didn't.

We worked together, I like her dynamic. She's got pretty hand, I like her a's. her hairs chocolate brown, I like brunettes. I didn't think that i'd hold the rude girl's hand. I didn't think that she'd want to hold my left hand, because the, MY left hand felt right to her.

I finally talked to the stranger. She's not so estranged, she's my friends' friend. she plays the cello- yes, we all know. she's first chair, she's the best.

She was left, by our friend. I'd never talked to my not-so-estranged stranger. 

-But I did tonight, I want her to be safe.

I want to protect her from the pain, you know it hurts- of course you do.

3:37 AM, 7/29/2017

I go to the bench.

That bench on the cliff.

I remember when we were 12

And we'd go there together.

I didn't know your hair was chestnut brown.

I was away for a bit

I'm sorry I didn't get your message.

I know you needed me, I'm sorry I didn't reply.

I went to the bench. The sky was orange, and purple, and pink and red.

My mom told me, the sky turns orange, and purple, pink and red because of chemicals in our atmosphere- put there by us, humans.

I went to the bench today, you weren't there, you haven't been.

I didn't think you would fall out of love with me, when you didn't, I thought you would.

Should we still try? We, so you don't feel alone, try- milk it for what it's worth.

You didn't leave a note they said.

I checked the bench, maybe you carved it.

I'm sorry,

I checked the bench, still, maybe it blew away, on the beach? Maybe it's in the sand, still? I'm not sure.

I'm sorry.

I went to the bench, and the sky was orange, and purple, and pink, and red.

I looked at that orange sky bad wondered if you thought of me.

I wondered if you pushed me from your head, so that when you jumped it would hurt less.

I wondered if it hurt at all.

I went to the bench, to sit there.

Maybe if I sat long enough I could be closer to you.

Maybe I could think what you thought, maybe a crashing wave will sound just like you remembered.

Maybe a dove would pass in the orange sky. Doves mate for life, you know? If one dies, the other dies alone.

I wonder if doves have benches too. I wonder if doves care the sky is orange, and purple, pink, and red.

someone should kill me.

I grab his face and tell him that's its okay, sometimes things don't always go our way, and that we have to stay strong. I talk to him likes hes a little boy, lost in a shopping mall, I suppose. I hold his hands, and comfort him. let him cry on my shoulder. he leaves me in the morning and throw the comforter over my head, along with the second one I stole for him, and I cry. I cant drink this time. its 10 am on a sunday, so I wait till two, when my parents leave the house.

someone should kill me, I told her, before I do it myself. wouldn't i only ruin it for myself even worse? even when I'm already dead? itd still be my fault.

I drink this time, and I scream, alone in my house, my pets cowering in the corners of my living room. I scream again, someone should kill me, hoping someones listening. it was only one shot, to stop from killing myself.

things don't always go our way, but where is my mind, when I cant take my own advice, and let tequila do the soothing? itll hold my hand, like a gun to my head. id rather that then get lost In a shopping mall, still alone while surrounded by people, looking for myself instead of my own mother.

theres alcohol dripping from my chin onto my shirt, and someone should kill me. I wonder if the lithium will.

someone should kill me, I tell her.

stay safe, she tells me.

from what?

I never reply. I'm scaring myself in this empty house. seeing things that aren't there, and you can say I'm crazy because of the liquor, but I was crying so hard it sounded like cackling, so I beg to differ.

someone should kill me.things don't always go our way, and I don't know what to want any longer.

When I tell you I love you, I hand you everything I am and everything I can ever be.

I love you means I will rip myself apart, tear myself down, and build myself right back up to do it again.

I told you I loved you, and I just gave you my heart, and told you that you meant something!

You hold it in your hands like water, slipping through your finger tips only for it to hit the ground and dissipate.

I gave you my skin, naked, and soft; vulnerable.

I give you my action, and I show you that i will always be there, but were you?

I gave you everything I had the only way I know how, and now I wait for at least a thank you.

Or for you to even say it back.

As if everything's here, and gone the next.

As if she's here and he's gone the next.

That poem that sounds so good, you ignore the 23 clichés hidden beneath its similes- the one you read to your lover, and he gives you that smile, the really awkward smile that he gave you when they caught you staring at him that one time. you did that thing when you say sorry like a lot and explain yourself, like a lot, but it only makes them laugh, and hold you tight.

then he tells you he loves you, like a lot.

Then he's gone the next, and he has taken your words. it's like the air has turned to fire, and your body isn't yours anymore, it's just a fucking mistake.

Your body walks around, taking, grabbing, stealing, and tracking mud all over your skin, eating all the cereal.

It takes up more space than it really fucking deserves, and stays longer than anticipated.

Then it too leaves with your words.

it takes your soul, or what was left of it.

like your murderous ex boyfriend, it leaves your poems plastered on the bricks of that building downtown you love, the one by your sisters place.

you paint over it, but the murderous ex whispers murderous things, taunting you and teasing you, that's all he ever did!

Saying NA-NA-NA BOO-BOO! You can paint over me, but I'll still be here!

And you paint over him too, and when he turns and leaves, only to return again.

to tease you, and taunt you-

When he turns and leaves, he tracks paint in a direct beeline to your home. He walks in circles around your fence. Drips the acrylic onto your dog, paints the fiery red lilies in your garden whatever color he feels like.

He follows behind you, into your home, and locks the door behind him.

He sits on your couch.

He drinks your milk.

He paints the hardwood blue, and leaves "whoever the fuck I am was here," scribbled on the tiles of your shower.

he lays in bed with you every night. holding you, spooning you, cuddling you.

when you cry, he wipes your tears, smearing paint along your cheeks.

You fall asleep, to wake up and follow his trail to the bathroom, where he watches you scrub the paint off your face, and stomach and hips and chest, and hands.

he laughs when you cry, doing so.

he turns to leave.

but stops, at the door, where he used to stand when he'd watch you carefully with skinny fingers, apply your mascara,

Your murderous ex looks at you, and closes his eyes, and you step out of yourself for him.

You become something you are not.

You peel your skin off, and hand it to him, and your body leaves with him. your words, your art, your love, your skin.

It leaves you with paint under its fingernails!

It leaves you sitting in in your acrylic covered shower at 3 am, wondering where you went wrong.

Please remember that you matter so much, and no one wants to see you hurt. There is evil in this world, but someone would die to keep you safe from it.

Step 1.

Smile more. Put on a bright smile everyday, so everyone thinks they know you're doing fine. Smile so brightly that you parents admire the grin they haven't seen in years. So brightly, your doctors think you're better. Then when you swallow that bullet, and crack your teeth on the metal of the barrel, they would've never seen it coming.

Step 2.

Act natural. Don't skip meals. Eat the full plate, ignore the tastes that you've learned to hate, do not think about the calories climbing down your throat. Wake up in the morning and put on your best clothes, follow a strict schedule, as if you know what you're doing in life. Act as if nothing out of the ordinary would ever happen. As if everything is just as normal as they used to be.

Step 3.

Be selfless. How ever you plan on taking your life, you will always be called selfish for you decision.

Give away all your prized-possessions, and donate next to everything you own. Die the hero you were meant to be, and make everyone mourn at the wonderful person they lost.

Step 4.

You can not say goodbye. Leave them with the heartbreak, and keep them up years after you've left. There is so much to say, and so little time before you start to rethink everything. It is so much easier to leave without giving a reason, than to live a life you cannot manage.

Step 5.

Do not rethink anything. How horrible it would be to suffer this way for the rest of your life? Do not talk to anyone, do not seek out for help. People will only hold you back, and you just wanna be happy. This is what you want. You'll never be able to make this decision again, and what a dirty world this is. Under pressure, precious things can break, but honey, you could never compare to fine china.

---

A/N

I know things get hard, but leaving makes everything so much harder. Please just imagine losing the person you love most, and watching life go on without them in it. Here one day, and gone the next. Like everything you've ever cared about ripped from your hands. Remember, some always thinks of you. No one deserves to die.

worry.

it feels like death.

like butchery, like annihilation, like a massacre.

it feels like gut wrenching diarrhea,

why wont they call back?

"he has 12 hours to live."

it sounds like, an all caps message, "Carrington, brady killed himself."

it feels like choking, like suicide, suicide, it feels like leaving, it feels like loneliness, it feels like they left.

it feels like your own breath in the back your neck, like gentle hands slapping you across the face, hard enough to knock you out.

it feels like pissing yourself in public,

like the dreaded "i have to talk to you."

it feels like that time you slit your wrists too deep, when you found every chair in your house stacked in the middle of your kitchen, when you got home and found the house empty.

it feels like giving up.

like the air has been sucked from your lungs.

it feels like 7 different antidepressants.

it is undeniable, and it is scary.its what it feels like to lose everything you've ever cared about in a matter of seconds.