In the ER, the lights are always on
and despite it all, the nurses laugh
amongst themselves. I am sobbing
without sound, as I have been all day,
to rinse the pain out of my skull.
Taylor drains some blood from my arm.
They say the curtains must stay open,
so they can see in. I know I am selfish
because I will not go back to school.
At home the unfinished books have been
crowding my space.
My friends aren’t here with me,
so they will never know. I wonder
how long I have left.
Why did you leave me that night
terrified, all alone in that big house
sloppy and stumbling and then throwing up
and not remembering and chewing pills
and taking long gulps of gin and vodka, why
did you leave, how could you?
And when she asked, “Resolved?”
I said yes.
And she marked it down on the chart then
said, as an afterthought
“I guess those things are never really resolved though.”
I drop them, breadcrumbs
as I trudge through the dark forest
Find me, Save me
Stolen away by mice
Trampled by leather boots
because my friends are looking at their phones
I throw them, handfuls
Save me, Help me
They fidget at the discomfort
of crumbs down their shirt, loosen the collars
What a nuisance
I am not hinting anymore
Breadcrumbs pour from my sleeves
Eyes dripping in pain
I’ve been walking a tightrope between life and death,
waiting to see on which side I will fall.
I’ve become so wilted, anguished and bereft,
tangled up in your miserable thrall.
A ladder of scars ascends my sharp ribs,
each rung marking a body filled with pain.
I cannot climb down now that I’ve reached the top;
the winds howl for my soul in seductive refrain.
The decision lies now in my quaking two feet,
whether I’m to fight on or surrender.
All alone high above tiny houses and streets,
I realize I’m the only contender.
I don’t care to eat
when you are dead
I don’t care to sleep
you’re in my head
I don’t care to cry
all my tears have been shed
I don’t care to live
nothing good lies ahead
I don’t care to laugh
I don’t care to sit
I don’t care to breathe
Just don’t give a shit
I built a shrine for you.
A shark tooth, two feathers,
a jagged piece of crystal.
How does anyone say goodbye?
A kiss? A hug? A wave?
I need your blood running
down my arms, into my veins,
becoming me. DNA entwining.
Let’s go out together,
holding hands, a picnic of pills
before us, a celebratory glass
of champagne. Fingers meshed.
We are two, we are one,
we are nothing.
I asked God —
or whoever was perched
in that tree tonight —
to keep you here.
Not to prolong your suffering.
To show you healing.
Love is within you
and without you —
in the fir trees
and the night air.
Also — because
I am selfish.