i wasn't sure if i should post this.

three part requiem:


her doors are tall, and the knobs are high. there's floral on the walls and paper on the floor. we chain smoke and i cry. i can't feel my legs and the tips of my fingers tingled as my stomach turned. it's over, it's over, it's over. i can't help but search for some eloquent way of saying i'm finished, but my speech is gone and my throat is continually sore. cigarette after cigarette, i want to tear at my skin. it's sore and it's red and i wonder where i got those scratches. she inspects my brain through my skull. it's fogged and shrinking. i've never felt so defeated. it's two am and the static is still drowning me but the music is still trying to break through. i touch my nose and it starts to bleed. this is nothing new. i don't know how to fix my frame anymore. (did i ever really know?)

when i was alive in his bed, he held me til the sun came up and crashed through his windows. my breath became heavy and sped up whenever he told me i was beautiful. my heart, my soul, and my brain can't function together. one of them is telling me it's a lie, but i don't know which. my gut tries to convince me of the latter. it took his eyes about five minutes to penetrate my being and see my aching ancient insides. he falls harder into me whenever i show him what i'm made of, and i don't know why. i guess i'm lucky. i can't intake anything around him: no food, no pills. there's only strong alcohol rushing through my blood stream now. when he stretched me out on the bedded grass at night, my eyes wandered wherever my hands went. i had no control. i have no control. when my limbs extend there's no telling where they'll go. my legs may walk as far as the western coastline without the rest of my body even knowing. my arms may fall to him and wrap around his body, snake through his arms and touch his back.

i dont remember the last time my stomach didn't ache. at home i stay locked up in my bedroom. under covers, sinking into the center of my bed, fighting sleep though the pills try to steal it from me. they are greedy and compulsive and so am i. i nurture each addiction like i would my first born. in my dreams, i forget how to spell every word i need. i can't mail the letters i promised i would write. how will anyone ever know about the oceans that i saw and the bridges that i crossed? how could i ever begin to describe the flowers that bloomed and way they smelled? how would i ever talk about the humming birds and words that flew through the sky? well, it's all over now. i wake up still lacking a backbone, still stuck in one place. never moving forward and never feeling satisfied. if i loved, i'd let love down. but if i cared, i'd be content. but it's hard to keep moving when your mind refuses to think, or when your hands refuse to build.