i love you, but i'm angry.
i love you so much; too much.
that's why i'm angry.
that's the problem.

two more days..

my heart chews bubblegum and scowls. by day, her remarks are insensitive, her demeanor uninviting.
by night she sits up in bed, sheets at her knees while the blade is pressed to her plump and veiny skin. 
it is under a cloak of vast and cavernous darkness that she carves and cuts away at herself. 
she stores these pieces- pulsating, dejected and red- inside a box.
she does not open it again.
it is under this vast cloak of darkness that she feels pain. it becomes external and tangible and her cries are not of sadness, but rather, relief. 
she feels loss.
oh god, she misses you.

two more days..

my fingers fly across this keyboard. behind my eyelids, the words prod me with their points. i gasp.
i falter. i contemplate.
i continue. 

i feel like i've used you. it's crazy that after everything i'm the one who's left with the guilt. 
i'm the one who keels in bathroom stalls and shies away from embrace.
i'm the one who can't focus. i'm the one who can't commit.

i've sculpted these words with the shards of my heart and what's left of my sanity.
i've turned us into art. painfully pretty- art.

we're covered in blood.
my heart's crying again.