My broken heart Throbs dysfunctionally. It beats to a cracked rhythm Between dead, dead, dead And life, life, life.
I could hop on a train. Grow akin to the screaming and whi… Where would I go? Far from here, from cold. Tell my parents my love,
What you meant– What I meant When I said, “I love you.” What you meant to me Wasn’t what you said
I often cajole myself Into crying, But I refrain. I know I’ll never stop.
I lost my innocence On a king-sized sheet With four posters And the two of us. Just the two of us
In seventh grade, I made you a po… But I tore it up into pieces Because it wasn’t good enough. In eighth grade, I made you a poe… But I left it under my bed
If only My tears were colors. There would be pink on my pillow And green on my shoes. There would be red on the paper
A tree fell in the park last night… I didn’t hear it go. The innards smelled of peppermint, And I felt the crumbling dirt Turn into ash in my hand.
Am I incurable? It seems so. I’m an incorrigible invalid Of the heart.
Why do I still feel guilty About things That are out of my favor?
You’re young. You’ll feel better. You’ll get better Eventually. So much time to feel better.
You don’t ask me to speak. You never expect my opinion. I was your second child In a runaway marriage. I suppose I loved you once,
The tissues know something. Even the mirror knows. My music knows it And especially my pillow. My books can see it
How can somebody Who loves to explore Be so afraid to leave?
Not as ardent as before. I’m tired. Slowing down, A tail growing heavier and longer With each day.
