god is she hot
and short too
your type

i know this

she likes the same music as you do
and her body is perfect
do you remember her in cooks forest

yup

did she wear a bikini?

i think so

i love it when she goes tanning at our house
on the deck out back
this one time she just said screw it and took off the top completely

hahaha nice

it was hot
i cant even count how many times i have seen her naked

so0o0o0o0 u trying to make me stab myself or what?

and god do i love it when she wears her hair down

*stabs self*

i can keep going if you want

i remember playing with her hair when it was still wet

the shampoo she uses at home smells soo good
she loves to have her hair played with too

guh
i know
i loved every second of it

the only thing i dont like about her body is the scars
did you ever see the little round one on her back?

not that i know of
i dunno

i did that to her
we were drunk
and we burned each other with cigs

u know what i think i did see that
either that or uve told me the story
cause that sounds so familiar

but yeah, i hate the scars
the ones on her near perfect arms
the one on her hand
the ones on her legs too, they go up pretty high, but i am sure you dont want to hear that

ug no
not from u
i wana see em myself

and then there is her stomach

she has that many scars?

no, no scars on her stomach

oh

its my favorate place because its the only place with out any

o0o0o

its perfectly smooth
and her little belly button, with the piercing

hahaha

and her chest
it has scars

wow

but it is still amazing
perfect set

hahaha

flawed only with random markings of her own hand
there is one
on her left one i think
she took a pin to her it and put pen ink in the cut to try to make a tatoo, its of a heart

hahaha

and higher up on her chest are markings when she took a pen cap to herself
a couple from pen caps
another on her upper arm

pen caps?
thats kinda random

yeah
she was freaking out, couldnt find her blade, tore up her room, and came away with a pen cap
just scratched the hell out of herself

awwww geez

and you wanna know something amazing?

whats that

ask me how she got through it all

ummm
u?

yup

nice
thats why i care so much

thats why i cant ever let her go
even through the drugs, when i would stop talking to her, i knew she would come back to me
and thats why i hate her, for letting me fall in love with her so much
its making things rather complicated now

yeah i bet

9 fucking years

thats a long time

yup

My Hell

I know that smile of yours
The one you rarely show
The one I coaxed from your lips
Only a few times
And I know what makes it hide
The demons you despise
Cursed objects of your admiration
For what can make one such as yourself
Cower in pure fright?
But I also know of a lighter topic
Of a river of tears
So damn strong even the mote of my thumb
Cannot hold them back
Because for what you weep
Is a separate demon all on its own
One of beauty and loss
Of love and fear of loathing
A demon you play with often
A demon you chose over me

Far, Far Away

I was driving to dog sit today.
It was about eleven
at night when I decided to leave.
On the way home
I came to a dead end road,
with one of those yellow signs
with the arrow
pointing in both directions,
as if people couldn't see
that the road did
in fact end there.
Left was home.
Right was not.
I turned right, and sped.
After about twenty minutes
I turned around,
realizing I was missing
two things I needed to do
what I so badly wanted;
my phone charger,
and my computer.
If I had happened
to bring both of these things,
I would probably be in PA
right now, and have no intentions
of going back.

Please Tell Me

I don’t know how you did it.
Be happy that is.
Somehow you managed
to do what I have always
wanted to do.
You became normal.
Its not that I don’t
want to be happy.
God knows I do.
But, it’s like I have
spent the past six
years doing something.
Everyday.
Constantly.
There was no brake,
no reprieve.
Just day in day out.
I did it for six years.
And someone went
and flipped a switch on me.
All of a sudden I don’t
have to do that thing anymore.
I don’t have to do it,
I don’t have to think about it,
I don’t have to dwell
on doing it tomorrow.
Its over. And I don’t
know how to handle myself
with out it. I spent the past
six years feeling like shit,
and now, all of a sudden,
I don’t. just like that.
I should be feeling happy,
feeling relieved that
that part of my life is over.
But instead I feel, well,
in all honesty, I feel empty.
Dry. Cold.
Like what made me who
I was is gone, and now
I have to find something
else to do with my time.
Even writing doesn’t hold
such an appeal as it did before.
I wrote to get away,
and now I have nothing
to get away from.
I am actually looking
for things to be upset about.
I search my surroundings
for something that is amiss,
something that can set me off.
So tell me, how did you do it?
How did you go from
being like what we were,
to this? How did you flip
the switch and not close your eyes to the
light?

Who I Am

So she wants to hang out
with me tomorrow.
And I want to see her.
More than anything
I want to feel like
I am not alone.
But I am feeling apprehensive.
I don’t know if I can
take seeing her. I don’t know
if I can advert my eyes
from her wrist, if I can
look away and pretend
that its all okay. And if I can’t,
if I cant make myself
look away and simply “hang out”,
then I will talk. And neither
of us can take the talking.
So what do I do?
Do I sit at home,
doing nothing, feeling
more alone by the moment?
Or do I have her over,
hold her and bite my tongue
until it bleeds? Scar tissue
will form there, and I will
forever have a reminder
that I am weak,
that I can’t handle even
the simplest of things.
Another constant reminder
of what I am and
what I have become.

Catch Me

So I am falling for him.
I tried not to, not because
I don’t like him,
god knows I do –
but rather because
of my fear of him
hurting me. I know
he would never,
not consciously anyway,
but I also can’t help
feeling like there is
something in the darkness
that I never want to know.
Something I have tasted
but never fully experienced
before. So I tried to
stop myself, to not text him,
to not call him “babe”.
To not get warm inside
when he called me “sweetheart”.
I tried so hard. But, the thing is,
I cant stop chasing him.
I can’t and frankly
I don’t want to either.
If it weren’t for this
overwhelming exhaustion
I have I wouldn’t mind
the least. But I am so tired.
God I am so tired it hurts.
I just want stability,
something to fall back on
when the rest of my world crashes.
And I know my world will crash,
it’s only a matter of time.
Time and everything
I have done will fall;
leaving only the things
that can stand on their own.
If he isn’t there, isn’t with me,
I don’t know what I will do.
Even you can’t support me
when this time comes.
So what will I do when I fall,
and no one is there to catch me?

Weak Knees, Weak Heart

So this possible boyfriend
of mine is, well, he just is.
Frankly I don’t know
what the hell I am doing with him.
We are not dating, I know that.
He likes me, I know that too.
And I can sort of understand
his reluctance. I feel slightly
the same way. But we can’t
do what ever it is we are doing
for much longer. I feel like
I am chasing a dream
when I just wake up;
I know it’s a good one
and I want so badly to hold on to it,
but, like most good dreams,
it slips threw my fingers like dry sand.
I want this. I need it. But I can’t
keep chasing something that
I have no hope of catching.
It is just too exhausting for me
right now. He says have hope,
“hope for the best”, and I do.
God knows it is that hope that keeps
me from freezing solid.
But it is but a candle in a blizzard;
capable of starting a blaze to save me
and just as capable of flickering out,
leaving me even more lost
than when I set out. I am just so sick
of being tired all the time
and unable to sleep. I find myself
staying up, talking to him,
just to make my body as tired as my mind.
I guess that there is not much
that you can do, if anything at all,
but I just wish he would stop running.
So what if the ground starts to shake
underneath him? If anything it may
help make his knees stronger.
If not then I will be there
to help him back up.

Definition of Irony

Haven’t written to you in a while.
Haven’t had the need to I guess.
Funny, that is, because I haven’t
gone to school in two weeks.
That is also funny because I have
been less numb these past two weeks
than I have ever before. I have Justin
to thank for both ironies.
He makes me happy, god does
he make me happy.
But he is a guy so, logically;
he drives me up the wall
at the same time. And then,
of course, there is you.
And your lack of communication,
of course. The thought actually
came to me yesterday that
you could be in the hospital again.
I mean, hell, I haven’t talked to you
in four days. The last time that happened,
when we were actually one speaking terms
of course, was when you tried to off yourself.
But, thank god, you texted me.
Put my over active imagination to rest.
But it never really helps. I still wonder
about you all the time. If you are happy.
If you are okay. If the latest drama
has paid its toll on you yet.
Things are not like they used to be
between us, are they? Oddly enough
I am okay with that. Or I would be
if my mind would stop freaking
out about things that may be going wrong
in your life. Really, the only thing that I miss,
is my ear to talk off. And not even that.
It’s the companionable silence I crave
that you gave to me. Sitting on your porch,
a pack of smokes, a lighter, and nothing to
talk about. I need that again. That’s why
I called you the other day. I need to sit
next to you and know that you were there.
To smoke and know that you didn’t care,
that you were sitting there smoking next to me.
The thought, the simply concept of knowing
that I am not alone, and never will be.
The simple rationale that if I call at anytime
you will answer. So, when you didn’t get back to me,
when I didn’t know that you were there,
I felt nothing. And once again
we come back to the feeling of numbness
I fear so much. Funny how it always
comes back to that, huh?

Here and Now

I am on new meds.
Zoloft and now
all I can think about
is that little bouncing ball thing
with the lady bug.
Unfortunately I am not bouncing yet.
I would like to be, but I am not.
Instead I am sitting here,
losing my mind
over all of the work
that I have to do,
the giant hole that
I have dug and now
I can’t get myself out of it.
Not only that, but it feels
like that hole is closing me in,
tapping me down
in its depths and nothing,
not even help from others,
will be able to get me out of it soon.
And the meds, of course,
are making me sick.
But I am not telling anyone
because I need them.
I feel like if this doesn’t
work then nothing will.
And then there is you
who doesn’t know any
of this because we haven’t
talked much about personal stuff.
I am afraid I will get too attached again
and I think that you
are afraid of my lectures.
I want things to be like they were,
for us to be close again like that.
But we’re not and I hate it.
I want instantaneous gratification,
and I want it now.
I want the meds to work,
I want you and me to be us again,
I want my school work to disappear,
I want to relax. But I can’t
and it is driving me crazy.
If my mind isn’t racing
then my body is,
my leg shaking
or my hands.
It’s enough to make me mad, er.
And that is the last thing
that I need right now.
But if it does happen,
I wish it would just jump on me.
Instantaneous. I hate this creeping
shit that everyone pulls.
The pills, the IEP, the craziness
that is sure to come.
I just want it, and I want it now.
I can’t wait for the inevitable,
I can’t wade around just watching
the river around me
slowly rise up. I want a flash flood. Now.

War and Peace

So I am sitting here,
my hair tied back with a claw clip,
R.E.M. on in the background,
a cup of tea in my hand,
and I feel real.
No more numbness at the moment.
A shame it took me all day
to get here, to this state
of grey and not black.
It is eleven thirty at night
and I am finally feeling energetic,
ready to go. Great.
The only problem;
my mind is the only part
of me that feels like this,
my body on the other hand
is pissed off that I didn’t nap today,
I woke up at seven,
and it is eleven thirty
and instead of sleeping
I am trying to figure out
a way to make myself feel more awake.
Ah, and the battle rages on,
a battle I am familiar with,
intimately.
Right and wrong,
good and evil, pleasure and pain,
my body and
what it needs
against my mind and what
it takes to keep me sane.
Only in a blue moon do they coincide,
like earlier today when
I showered, washed my face,
put lotion on, did my nails,
feet included, and wore clean clothes.
Normal for most people
but I think that it is safe
to say that I am not normal.
It was nice, though,
having all of me together
like that. I am afraid
that it is over and once again
I am battling, forcing the two
of me to play nice,
get along,
stop trying to kill each other.

Ice Queen

So I am wondering,
is it possible to love
more than one person?
I think that it is, but
that still doesn’t change
the feeling that I am getting
every time I talk to him.
I mean, he is great.
He makes me smile no matter
what we are talking about.
Every time that he says my name
it makes me hum inside.
But I feel like I am cheating,
on you, on Miranda.
It’s not like we will ever
do anything, he lives in
Fuckin California.
But it is nice to dream.
Dream of living there,
an hour from the beach,
with him. To keep him
company, make him happy,
and have him keep my sane.
Because he is so good at that.
Makes everything I am feeling
seem so trivial
compared to the big scheme of things.
Every time that I log on and
I see his name on my screen I glow,
feel whole again. The same way that
I felt the other night with Miranda,
sleeping next to me, my arm wrapped
around her body, her leg across mine.
I felt whole. And I love that feeling.
The feeling of normalcy.
Of being human and not
some ice cold freak
who pushes every one away
for fear of being hurt again.
I hate that person that hides
in me and these people,
my friends, so few they are,
they keep me from going crazy,
from losing it completely.
And I wont even get started
on Michael and how much I miss him,
even though I have never met him,
he lives on the other side of the globe,
but I miss him all the same.
I can’t wait until he comes
back and we can talk again.
Even not talking, but knowing that he is home,
would be better than this.
This icicle feeling
I have right now. This icicle feeling
I have all the time.

Take it or Leave It

So apparently
I am a disappointment.
To my family,
obviously. To my friends?
What friends. But Mrs. Joyce
was just talking to me
the tone of voice that she
had used with me,
the way her eyes pierced mine,
I just couldn’t take it.
It was like when you started to cry
after I showed you my leg,
the small lines displaying
how hurt I really was.
I never expected it from her though;
I mean she doesn’t even know me
as well some of my other teachers.
Maybe I was wrong about her,
maybe all of the stories
I wrote in power of the pen
didn’t just pass through her,
maybe she actually read them,
unlike Mr. Kowalski,
maybe she saw what others didn’t.
It’s a comforting thought
but a painful one all at the same time.
This is what I wanted after all,
for someone to notice me,
to realize that I wasn’t like
every one else in this hell hole.
But at the same time
I am only faced with another person,
another set of eyes to see
what I am doing to myself
shake their head. Give me
that look that I loath
yet desire. I only wish
I could take it, take what
I want without wanting more,
of a different caliber.
Here’s the gun,
here are the bullets,
now shoot yourself in the foot.
“But I wanted an automatic” I whine.


And then there is you.
Yeah, I still go there.
Those texts I get
just make me want more,
a taste of what you have
before you pull the plate away,
denying me my fill.
But who can blame you.
It’s better than nothing at all.
At least I am not starving any more,
at least you have observed
what I have been telling you for years.
At least you are real again,
not just a phantom of a memory
from long ago that I wish to hold on to,
like I keep that blanket in my closet.
You are a source of comfort,
a star when it is cloudy.
Its funny, like I said before,
I cant take what I ask for,
I only want more.
I wanted you to notice me,
to give me more attention
than you did before, and you are.
But I still long to see you more often,
to talk, smoke, drink. Anything
to give us a reason to be together. Anything
to give me an excuse to look at your face,
star at your eyes,
trace the many scars

Home

We started talking
again today. I was doodling,
I do that now, and Miss You
came on. I stopped,
looked up, and felt this need,
this sudden compulsion,
to see you. Right then.
It couldn’t wait.
It had to be right then.
So stood up, grabbed my cell,
stuffed it in my pocket,
and went to the hall.
“Mom, I am going for
a walk. Everything’s fine,
I just need air”. Then I left,
walking out the garage door
like I have so many times,
to go see you. It was cold;
I only had on my jacket,
and the stars over head
were brilliant, the clear night
perfect for some drunken walks
if it wasn’t so cold. I thought
of the time I made this same walk
in January, with sandals and a t-shirt,
no coat, no socks, no nothing.
Tears streaming down my face,
freezing and only making
me feel even less human.
But it wasn’t like that this time.
I didn’t need your comfort,
only desired it. I texted you,
r u home?
But by the time that I
reached your house there was no reply.
So I called, you answered,
Can I come over?
By this time I had already
passed your house,
was down by the crazy guy’s driveway.
But I turned around,
headed back, seeing the beckon
of your porch light.
I let myself in, got a slightly
odd look from your mom,
but it was normal
for me to come over at 8,
uninvited, unannounced.
I headed up the stars,
to your door plastered with
magazine clippings. The squirrel
was still there. A push
and I was home,
the sent coming welcomed,
and you laying on the bed.
A white t-shirt, dark pants,
the TV on, of course.
“I just started Borat”
I smiled, it was such a you movie,
and sat down. I was home,
it was like nothing ever happened.
No drugs, no anger, no love,
nothing.
I was home.

One Last Thing

So I am sitting in school,
in the library of course,
and I am listing to blink
and every damn song
has some hidden meaning
that I am just now getting.
If only I ha understood this shit
when I was twelve, sitting
in your basement playing Barbie’s
listening to the momma’s words song.
If only I got it then maybe I wouldn’t be
so fucked up now.
Anyway, this one song hit me first,
Untitled. Fucking creepy how it hit me.
I was writing, of course,
and I paused a second
started to listen to the lyrics.
The song itself was so familiar
I hadn’t actually heard it
in a long time,
this line smacked me
like I wanted to smack you so many times.
You make me regret those times
I spent with you
and playing those games
as I wait for your call.
Creepy right? I sat shaking
for a few minutes
it freaked me out so bad. It turns out
the whole fucking song is like that,
telling me what our relationship
turned out to be. And then this other one,
Man on a mission, I heard
I remember shots, but not a chaser.
Made me smile. God how I want
to get drunk with you so bad.
Kiss again, I want you to hold me
tell me it’ll be alright. That sounds cliché.
I hate cliché. But god damn is it true.
I miss you so damn much
yet I know that I will never have you.
And even if we do start
being friends again it wont be
like what I want. It can never be.
I know that, but it still hurts like fuck.
Almost enough to drive
me back to cutting.
But I couldn’t do that.
Not after the look on your face
the last time. And those tears.
God I would give anything
to make you never shed another tear
unless it was in joy. I just want
to know one thing; are you as miserable as I am?
I don’t give a fuck
about the drugs,
do what you want.
I don’t care about not having you,
but tell me, do you hate yourself
as much as I hate myself?
For the way that things turned
out that is. I feel like I failed you,
like I tipped and
you fell because of it.
I am so god damn broken now
and I feel like if I had
fought a little harder
I might be strong enough to fix things.
I might be able to this right.
I want it to be right so bad, Michelle.
Fuck I want it more than I want you.
And, believe me, I want you a lot.
But even if I cant have that,
I want it to be okay. I want things
to be good. Like when we were
sittin in your basement
playing Barbie’s listening
to what I am listening to now.
Nudist colony. Fuck you mark.
Burn in hell.
I want that more than anything.
Can you give it to me?
Can you do at least that?