I cried yesterday when I got home.
I felt my insides shake and my spine curl inwards,
Like my body was seeking a warm hug from something,
I sat in bed and closed my eyes then let the music play with them closed,
Sometimes, if I let it consume me I can almost feel the space between my ears
Where the sound bounces.
It’s a hollow, calm place.
I knit to give my hands purpose,
Watch the scarf trail along the floor
I feel more important with every inch.
Row by row.
I knit to tie my soul to something with legacy.
My bones are weak and tired.
My marks come back low
And I feel lower,
No money in my pocket to compensate for my stupidity,
Just a burning hole in my chest
That feels cold when I cry.
I miss all that I’ve let go when the pain comes.
My right choices feel so wrong,
Simply because they were made by me.
I don’t know who leaf is:
A pen name to hide personal problems.
I can sleep through the day and it is never enough,
Crippled, I am bound to my bed,
Until the next day where I rise to fill my pocket with pointless,
Green bills that vanish from existence by the end of the month,
And I am left with no evidence of my actions or my hard work.
I cradle my own bones to fill the hollow place in my heart.
I am so cold.
So cold and alone.
I’m just a smile, some bad jokes, and too many problems.
I am her without choice,
We are them without choice.
How many pills would I have to take for it all to go away.
I am too cowardly to face the world,
Too cowardly to kill myself.
Cropped hair left me useless,
Atleast then I was a useful object.
Even sex with the wrong people gave me purpose;
I think of all the meals I want to miss,
The many years I wish to sleep.
I play Lana Del Rey on repeat
And melt into that place,
Between my ears,
Where I’m not dead,
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