my empty pocket

for the first time in a while. this whole week has been a spiral into depression. i get up later and later, i don’t do any of my work or go to any of my classes. 

i feel paralyzed.

i feel trapped.

i tried to go outside and calm myself down and listen to some music but after i had gotten boots on and everything i couldn’t find my ID anywhere and i went out into the hallway to cry and two girls were just sitting there like idiots talking about one of their fiances and how they could know he was the one for her and i was like

SHUT UP YOU MORONIC BITCHES

YOU’RE 19 YEARS OLD

you can’t get married to anyone until you’ve watched somebody die

it shouldn’t be allowed.

and there’s nowhere for me to run and little things,

like the tap tap tap tap tap of my roommate’s phone when she’s texting in the bunk beneath me or

this cough that just won’t go away

somehow i just blame them all on you and they overwhelm me. they take me over and i’m powerless. i am choked with grief. i am silenced by your loss and i am wordless with fear and longing.

so how to find a way to make “dear god just let me die” into “dear god please help me to live”

?

Is a hard day to be without you.

“

eventually

we will have seen

all of the

lights.

think about it.

not a single new

or virgin glow

to be admired.

eventually,

we will have come to

all the bridges

and crossed or not,

they will lie somewhere

behind or above us,

chapter titles to our

unwritten memoirs. 

undated headings to the 

autobiographical archives that document

our searches for belonging or believing.

we’ll have done it all,

and seen the patterns,

the repeated rhythms,

the codes that code for breathing and for

spectral desires.”

this is what i told him

when he was alive.

this is how i coaxed him

to give the morning a chance, to

take the afternoon as an invitation, to

ignore

the threat of dusk.

this - the vision

cast like a shining cobweb over what would always be

truer

and 

darker - 

that to him,

tomorrow as never about the lights but

about the shadows they cast,

it was never about bridges but

the ashes they became:

running to him was being chased,

leaving to him was abandonment,

swimming to him was 

drowning.

i spoke in art,

he saw the negative spaces

everything behind and showing

through the cracks

that formed when i pulled away from him to try and

tidy up the mess that i’d become

that his cyclone had made me

that we can blame on so many people or

things 

but that,

in the end,

was the fault of the summer,

which melts good intentions down into

false

hopes and

shines a light into your eyes

until you agree to go along.

until you are complicit

in the fantasy of paradise.

“watch me fall”

, he told me

, “know you pushed me

.”

and i, without agreeing, 

agreed.

and i, because i loved him

kept my eyes open 

even for the slow 

motion, even for the

crescendo,

even for the

crash.

the blood i saw was mine, is the worst.

in spilling how own, he spilled me too, and

all without asking permission.

no signed statements or

waivers.

the only oath we swore was without my

consent,

and now i belong to something i never signed up for

the emptiness of a missing smile, 

the silence after all the most important

questions.

i belong to those who have lost the luxury of forgetting what matters.

i belong to those who have found the sharp

edge to

every joy.

nobody asks about regrets.

but if they did, i’d tell them just this:

that he was dangerous, but that loving him was

my redemption.

just like everyone.

just like god.

And feeling the ache of missing you again.

Hello, darling. It’s been too long.

i hate you i hate you i hate you