Late nights, climbing flights, running laps through my mind. Trying hard to distinguish what is yours, what is mine. Mind over heart I know, but my heart tells my mind not to let this love go. So I lie here distressed, all this pain in my chest. Almost as if you pulled my heart from behind my left breast. This is killing me softly, like a Lauryn Hill song. I don’t know if I can do this. It feels so wrong.

Drunk texts, no regrets, at least not yet… until the next morning when you realize you meant every word that was said. A drunken mind speaks a sober heart, it’s true. Emotions overflowing all thanks to 80 proof. With every shot you take, you become more sentimental. Bottles of beer expose the thoughts in your mental. Drunken confessions you can never take back don’t account for the sober bravery that you lack.

Here’s to the nights: sober, high, or drunk… and to every single person that we’ve ever loved. Past, present, future. It all ends up being relative. I don’t ask for much, just for all of you to let me live.

I Wish

I wish I believed in infinity. I mean, really. I truly attempt to force myself to believe in forever. I want to be able to look past the things that have happened in my life and say “Maybe some things do last.” I can’t though. My brain prevents it. Logically, infinity makes no sense. I have never seen something last forever. Not one life, one relationship, or one piece of history has lasted for infinity. Not in its original state at least. These things are altered and manipulated in such a way that they are very rarely recognizable at first glance. I just want something that lasts. I want to believe that a relationship can last past a lifetime. I want to see a promise faithfully kept, under all circumstances. I want to see souls grow old. I want to see past my existence on Earth. I want to see where I’m going to be 4 billion years from now. I want to find the beauty in forever.

I Dreamt Of You

I dreamt of you last night, and tears rolled down my face.

I dreamt of everything you said, and how I had been replaced.

I dreamt of lies and promises I so naively believed.

I dreamt of how you randomly decided to leave.

I dreamt of your “I love you” calls when you were rather drunk.

I knew you weren’t telling the truth, but I didn’t give a fuck.

I dreamt of ways you fucked me over and how we were still friends.

Too bad that’s not how that story went, instead it sadly ends.

Sonny's Room

Meeting With The Sidewalk

I climbed one hundred sixty-eight steps on the way to my farewell. Fourteen flights. Each floor, a different chapter of my life that left me slightly less alive than the one before.

Climbing the first twenty-four steps, I was reminded of all of the stressful things I have had to deal with in my lifetime. Mostly friendships, parents, and unnecessary drama. Usual things that people my age have to endure on the way to becoming an adult. I thought I was going to make it to the top without a complete break down if the next one hundred forty-four steps were as easy as these were.

Reaching the third level, I was reminded of what led me here to begin with. Death. Too many people have left without a “Goodbye.” Too many people have departed without saying “I love you.” Wonderful, loving human beings with big hearts and good intentions have been ripped from my grasp with no warning at all. I had watched too many people I love slowly disintegrate into absolute nothingness, hurting me more and more each time.

Though I saw many things from my past during the next six flights, I felt no pain. Nothing. I was not sad as I individually replayed every fight I had ever had with my mother. Every blow to the head and harsh word that was said no longer affected me the way I knew she wished it would. I suddenly stumbled, falling into a small puddle of self pity. She extended her hand to me as I was collecting myself and whispered the words “I'm here for you.” This gesture received no acknowledgement. I simply stood up and passed her by without making eye contact, as if she was a beggar in the streets. I would have rather felt the world crashing down on me than how I felt at that moment, for it is not sadness or anger that kills people. What truly kills people is apathy.

Suicide attempts haunted me for the next couple of minutes as I made my way to the top. I flashed back to my first attempt at escape and wondered what it was that had stopped me from following through with it. No one was home. I could have easily swallowed the entire bottle of sleeping pills that my father had just gotten refilled, but I did not. I was too afraid to follow through, and now I hated myself for not doing so when I had the perfect opportunity. Every thought about taking my life after the first came quicker and easier than the one before. I believed that death was the only solution there was to every break down and argument that I had, but feared carrying through with something as extreme as killing myself for a very long time. I often hoped someone would wreck into the side of my car or hold me at gun point so that I could be done with my life without having to take it myself.

My thoughts then turned to self-mutilation, drug addiction, and drinking problems that consumed a majority of my nights. I remembered the first time a blade had ever gone deep enough into my skin to make me bleed. Nothing felt better than the relief that came with cutting. I drank until I blacked out about as much as I showered. Nearly every night I would tip the bottle back, hoping to forget about reality for a little bit. This only worked for a short amount of time. Eventually, drinking made everything that I had endured much worse. This is what caused me to turn to pills. The stairs were suddenly flooded with every single Vicodin, Loratab, and Xanax I had ever popped. The stairs themselves were razor blades dripping in my own blood. My feet gave and I slipped and cut myself with disappointment to relieve the pain of reality for the last time.

For the remainder of my trip up the stairs I was engulfed in weakness and discouragement. Every wrong decision reminded me of why I gave up on myself so long ago. Every lie I had ever told myself about meaning something to somebody just furthered my reasoning behind what I was about to do. By the time I reached my destination, I was barely strong enough to hold myself up.

There I was. Standing on the fourteenth story of an abandoned building, filled with sorrow and remorse from all of the things that had ever happened to me. I finally realized that I meant nothing to the world. Every breath that I took and step that I made was a constant reminder of how little it cared. Drenched in failure, I stood swaying back and forth in the open window and dove to safety.

The trip to the ground was much more satisfying than the one up. Alas, my problems were solved. For the first time in my entire life, I was at peace. The sidewalk was cold and unwelcoming, just like the rest of the world. My heart shattered for the billionth time against the hard grit, and just like that I was gone.

I swear to God we're like a phone bill that gets paid by someone who has to live check to check. One minute everything is fine, but all of a sudden I try to connect and get hit with a computerized voice that says “I'm sorry. The person you are trying to reach is not accepting calls at this time.” Bitch, that is not your mother fucking voicemail. I know what that sounds like. “Hey! Leave a message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can.” This is something different. This is one of the few nice things phone companies try do for their customers. They could easily say “This dumb ass bum fuck is broke as hell.” They don't though. It's almost like they're trying to cover up for you. I know what the deal is though. You forgot to pay your bill. Again. Forgetting about it once or twice is acceptable, but you have forgotten more times than I am capable of counting on both my fingers and my toes. I understand I fall at the bottom of your priority list. . . but put me in there somewhere god dammit. I'm tired of getting used as a book mark for a Stephen King novel you haven't picked up in weeks. I'm sick of getting mixed in with your letters from collection agencies and belated birthday cards you'll never open. I feel unappreciated, like that sweater your great aunt knitted you two Christmases ago. You've never used that sweater though. It's hanging somewhere in the back of your closet or folded in one of the tubs underneath your bed. Me, on the other hand? You've used me over and over again. You have used me more times than you've used your Xbox, cell phone, and car combined. I have been here through all of your bullshit lies and hurtful truths, and I have finally built up enough courage to tell you that I'm done. Fertig. Finito. Finished.

I don't believe...

I refuse to believe that everything happens for a reason. Bad things happen to good people that don't deserve them all of the time. It's not fair. I guess that's life though. It is filled with disappointment after disappointment, and that is something that is extremely hard to come to terms with. People always try to feed me that “Everything happens for a reason. It'll make you stronger. God only deals you things He thinks you can handle.” bullshit. I don't believe that for a second.

Infinity

Infinity.
It doesn't exist.
Nothing lasts.
Fuck what you heard in your math class.
Life, love, joy.
They all pass fast.
That rotated 8 is meaningless
When you lose people you can never get back.

Timing

Our timing is wrong.
Your heart's always tied up on a line I should be on.
Don't answer when I dial, you just press ignore.
Hit me with a text instead, I'm not okay with that anymore.
Put on hold for hours for the one you say you love.
You say that same thing to me, but I guess it doesn't mean as much.
To her I'll always be second best,
But at least you care enough to not completely disconnect.
Or maybe you don't, because lately you've been acting strange.
I hold on a little longer, thinking that something will change.
I'm dumb because I know it won't, it'll always be this way.
I'm dumb because I believed you when you swore you weren't the same.
Always tempted to press “end” but it'd be pointless, right?
We both know when you call me back, I'll answer and everything will be all right.

Old Grandma

You were a perfect rose.
A perfect picture in a perfect frame.
You diminished into nothingness,
Like a sidewalk chalk drawing does in the rain.


Tears were held back
As I witnessed your pain.
I told you I loved you and I'd see you tomorrow,
But tomorrow for you never came.

You're Right, I'm Ugly

If I'm not 5'5" and 130 pounds I am automatically ugly. If I don't meet your expectations, I don't deserve an opinion. My existence is a waste of space. I am a nobody. I am absolutely hideous. Perfection is beauty. I am not perfect; therefore, I am not beautiful.

If this is how you think, you should seriously consider jumping off of a cliff.

I am a little under 5'2" and well over 130 pounds, but anyone who really knows me would tell you that I'm a beautiful person. I give more than anyone in the entire world and would do anything for the people I love. I may not be the prettiest person in the world on the outside, but I have one of the biggest hearts in the world. I'm not built like a model, but who cares? I sure as hell don't.

Unfortunately we live in a society that has had a set standard of what is beautiful. Sadly we allow the media to shape our views on subjects such as this. Beauty is not determined by exterior appearance. Fuck what Merriam-Webster taught you. True beauty is what is found underneath all of the makeup, skin, and designer brands.

I Think I'll Just Stay In Bed

It's your birthday today.
I called you, sent a text,
Wrote on your Facebook wall,
And even left you a comment on MySpace.

I received no response.
No “Thank you!” was uttered.
No “I love you!” was said.

I think I'll just stay in bed.

It's your birthday today.
You would have been 18.
Now you're a picture on my wall,
A bunch of faded memories.

I miss you.
Nothing I do or say can erase these scars.
Your name is permanently tattooed on my heart.

I think I'll just stay in bed.

It's your birthday today.
I got you a card and some balloons.
I wish I had the courage
To bring them to you.

But I'm far too weak.
For now I think I'll close my lids,
And meet you in my dreams.

It's your birthday today,
And I think I'll stay in bed.

I Lost My Religion

I lost my religion
Somewhere in between my childhood friend passing
And the death of everything I thought I knew.
I lost my religion
When someone who had my trust
Wished death upon me and told me to give up.
I lost my religion
As I grew older
And realized I had the weight of the world on my shoulders the size of a boulder.
I lost my religion.
Slowly but surely.
I lost my religion
Because I got a taste of the real world entirely too early.
It wasn't just a taste though.
It was more like being force fed all of the foods I despise,
All at once.
Brussels sprouts and lima beans representing pain and agony,
And I can only eat so much of the shit before it makes me sick.
I can't take anymore.
I'm full now.
Filled with sorrow.
Some would argue I'm a lost soul,
But I don't really believe I have one of those.
I am simply lost.
And to be honest, I just want to talk to God
So I can ask Him why
I lost my religion.

My Drug

The beats that you blast
Make you feel like a Catholic at Mass,
Or a person addicted to crack.
Rehab, then relapse.
Recover, fall Back.
The highs make you feel better,
But they never last.
Hold on tight, try not to lose grasp.
This trip to no where may take off fast.
Lost in the treble clef, words, and the staffs.
No pain when shit hits, numb to each thrash.
Turn it up all the way to drown out the past.
The only thing that’s always been there.
Nothing else has.