please don't ask if im okay. 
i might do something stupid
like try to explain why im so tired of 
getting close 
to people and watching them leave me like
im part of nothing,
which is less than a whole nothing,

sometimes im terrified that hell
is something you carry around with you
according to how much God thinks you're worth.
and it hurts to know that brillaint things can happen
in the dark, but not for me. 

no one knows how long the nights can be when you 
are reminded how little  you saved the ones you loved
and how less you will be able to save yourself.

there 
are  times my thoughts are so damn loud. 
i cant hear what my mouth is saying...
but i know that i will fade
leaving behind only the blackness that leaks from the corners 
of my lips like cyanide.

and
you will hate me but not wish me to hell
because you will not want to see me again. 
and i will repeat that i was inadequate all along
you just never knew it. 
one day you will peer high from a window
and smell septembers sunset
then 
you will know, in fact, that if dawn must turn to dusk
and 
whiskey into love
this
was a beatiful way to go. 


Survive Now . Cry Later.

please excuse my voice... i have been sick.

Once you smell death you never forget it
and I can't remember a time when I didn't recognize it. 
But it never mattered enough until he died. 
Until the odor hung like stalagtites from my nose hairs. 
I left the contents of my stomach on the floor beside my brothers 
hospital bed and I wondered if he had choked on the milkshake I bought
for him. Death had curled it's toes between my vertebrae 
like fingers on a fiddle.
 
I've got pajamas hanging in my closet, pressed, on a plastic hanger. 
I don't do clothes with starched spine, nor cherry marionette smiles. 
It makes no sense when eventually my nose will slide down my cheek 
in a puddle where flies will make home and dogs will steal bone. 
 
The well wishers will ooh and ah about what a darling girl I was, 
and how I will be missed when no one noticed I was missing all along.
There will be a picture, perhaps, of me with a politicians smile and 
eyes that follow people around the room like a Scooby Doo mystery. 
They will wonder, for a moment, if my crocheted eyelids can see through 
their meat suits into the black hole that hides their sins.
 
They will vow to make each day count, but they will 
forget the moment the macaroni salad is offered as entertainment. 
There's just something so fucked up about scarfing down chow that 
smells like formaldehyde and bleach. 
 
I left my heart in the hands of those I loved too much and 
never said goodbye. Now, I have perfected the art of letting go.
I am fractured by collapsed skeletons and regardless of how they die,
souls fall to their knees.

GIRLINTERRUPTED