I don’t think you built me up just to tear me down. I don’t think that, but my head can’t convince my heart…so it just keeps on breaking, and breaking, and breaking…

You treated our love like chocolate the day after Valentines; it’s to have, but not worth retail price. You only ever invested enough to enjoy the taste, ignoring the meaning behind the heart shaped boxes. It was all about the moment for you, that sweet, satisfying mouthful. You never let the chocolate take it’s time to melt on your tongue, coating your world in a coco dream. For you, it’s all about quantity over quality. Price tags need to have a 50% discount before you’d even consider making the purchase. The best part of buying chocolate isn’t getting to eat it; the best part is getting to give it to someone else, someone you know will want to share it with you. You aren’t good at sharing, and you refuse to be a committed part of somebody else’s world. You only want a momentary fix, a quick sugar high. You’ll never experience a lingering sense of satisfaction eating like that. You’ll never have comfort in simply unwrapping the candy bar, because you’ll only ever be in a rush to shove that sweetness down your throat. You rip right through the fancy printed labels, not even bothering to appreciate the subtle details. You want to quiet your sweet tooth, and you don’t mind gaining a few cavities along the way.

“I am empty, but oddly enough, this emptiness feels heavy…it feels so damn heavy.”

I can’t cry anymore. I used to cry driving home every day. I used to cry in the shower, and when I laid down for bed. I turned to drugs and alcohol to numb my mind, so I wouldn’t have a free thought left to drift towards my unpleasant past, or at least the unpleasant past my depression had formed in my head. I cried for a myriad of reasons. I was sad about where I was in my career, feeling like a failure compared to my friends and family. I was angry at my body, because I couldn’t force it to do anything I wanted, yet it forced bite after bite down my throat until I ballooned into a 200lb ball of blubber and despair. I was anxious around anybody, even people I had known all my life; I felt everyone judging me, even though they only wanted to help, and I couldn’t stand feeling so pathetic. I raged on the weekends, wrecking my apartment and getting reprimanded by my landlord. I became a hermit after leaving work, ignoring my phone and burying my guilt in layers of unwashed hoodies, empty pill bottles and half-eaten pizzas. I was disgusted with myself for even trying to find happiness, giving into my desires and finding random partners for hollow sex. None of those were “good” feelings, but they weren’t nothing. I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t empty. I told myself I was empty, but I wasn’t empty.

Today I woke up early. It was warm outside for an Ohio October day, so I took a walk. During my walk, I watched the sun break through the trees lining my street, and I saw kids standing on the corner, waiting for the bus, and at least 3 joggers passed me over the course of 10 minutes, and 2 dogs were being walked, and lawn care providers were beginning their days, and when I made it back to my apartment I realized I wasn’t a part of anything. Things were happening all around me; life was happening, but I wasn’t a participant. I saw everything from the outside, because none of it meant anything to me. I should have been upset about this, but I didn’t feel anything. I thought I’d be mad at myself, but I didn’t care. I thought I’d be sad, realizing I had no place in this world, but I didn’t care. I thought I’d swallow a bottle of pills, drown myself in a cold shower, and text my boss an excuse as to why I wouldn’t make it into work this week. But I didn’t care.

I couldn’t feel anything. I could see all the same things, draw all the same conclusions, and land on the appropriate emotion I should be experiencing, but I couldn’t touch those feelings.

I often thought I would end up in such a rage I would accidently throw myself off my balcony, or make a cut so deep I would bleed out in my bathtub. I thought I would feel so sad I would swallow every pill in my cabinets, and let those little medical wonders take me away to a new Hell. I thought I’d drink until I couldn’t speak, and try calling him again, hoping that after all these years he might pick up, just so I could hang up the phone the second he said hello, and a split second later I would put a bullet in my brain without ever telling anybody goodbye.

I thought I would die from those feelings, that all the sorrow and rage would drive me into a corner until I had no choice but to end it all. But I never did. I kept on going, and those feelings kept on flowing through everything that I did. I wasn’t empty, but I was being hollowed out. It took years and years, but I finally see what the end is.

I felt so much that all I wanted to do was die, but that was rooted in a desire to escape, and I wanted to escape because deep down I wanted to live. Now, I don’t care if I die, and that’s rooted in a lack of any desire to live. Dying isn’t an escape, it’s just another path, another way to reach the finish line. I could do it 5, 10, 50 years down the road, and it wouldn’t change a thing. So why bother? It doesn’t matter. Today is as good a day as any, so why not now? Why not make today my final day?

It doesn’t matter, so I might as well just die.

“I am October, Ohio.”

I am October’s colors, my skin the reflection of bruised peaches and burnt honey. I stick to all things green, suckling away at their breast, until only a shriveled husk remains, clinging onto skeleton branches, begging the wind to let them be. My winds are not so kind as to carry any calls for help, even if it would be in my self-interest. I am October, Winters harlot and Summers whore. I welcome September with amber whispers, while Death waits in the kitchen for crumpets and tea. Before November arrives, I will have suffocated every cul-de-sac’s front yard with the flesh of ancient oaks, and laugh along with the children as they make piles of the refuse skin to jump and play in. I am October, a fire without heat, burning the sunset past the horizon, leaving life tinged the shallow shade of a red run dry. I am October, because we are the same; we are only beautiful when we are dying.

He loves me; he loves me not.

“He loves me.”

He shared with me his secrets,

Hidden between kisses.

I stockpiled every last one,

Treating them like stained glass;

I avoided touching them,

But I loved watching the world

Through his colorful view.

 

~He loves me not.~

He only ever looked at me

Through a rainbow lens,

And it leaves me to wonder

If he saw me for who I am

Or for the person he wants to see?

Because through his kaleidoscope

Even a gray sky

Can be mistaken for

A perfect, cloudless blue.

 

“He loves me.”

He knew my body,

Ran his fingers over the war

I had scratched across

My wrists, shoulders and stomach.

His hands never shook,

And his warm touch

Felt like it was melting away

Every mistake I had made.

 

~He loves me not.~

But those scars weren’t mistakes;

They were choices.

Regardless of regret,

If I just let them disappear

Without confronting the reasons

I made them in the first place,

I’m not learning a damn thing.

In the end, his hands

Weren’t trying to heal,

But instead hide the truth.

He couldn’t love the scars

So how could he love me?

 

He loves me, he loves me not.

He loves my potential; he loves the thought

Of what I could be, the perfect future he sees.

He loves what might come, but he doesn’t love me…

 

“My breath is being forced down my esophagus and into my stomach, where it’s keeping my bubbling guts company as I choke on another dozen pills.”

I had the rights words.

Sweetling, they were here,

Careful carved into

The chalky remains

Of my soiled soul.

The perfect combination,

Equal parts desire and guilt,

Cloaked in the allure

Of a better tomorrow.

If you had waited,

Just through today,

I swear I had it all.

 

If you ever find yourself

In my tomorrow,

I know my words

Will still be there.

So please, listen,

Because I know,

Once you hear them,

You’ll know it too;

That these words for you

Would have been

The right words

To make you stay.

“Everyone is a someone, and while you don’t know who you are right this second, it’s still a fact that you will always be you.”

Walking around the corner, I looked up, searching for the sky. The buildings blocked any shine from the Sun, and all I could think was “what a boring view.” An endless universe exists up there, and I can only see a fraction of a fraction in the best situations, and here I am, living in a place that takes away from my already scant view of the universe. I can’t even see the sun rising or setting, instead relying on nuclear powered clocks to tell me when I need to start my day. Those same clocks have dictated every aspect of my existence, and they have no idea who I am. To be fair, clocks are inanimate objects, and thus are exempt from having to pick out the traits that define my person. Clocks can’t be expected to know who I am, but it shouldn’t be asking to much that I might know who I am.

I’ve lived my life, but I’m not living, am I? A part of me is screaming for some adult logic. I’m busy thinking about the infinity of the universe, but I still haven’t finished my bachelors. What could someone with so little experience do? I need to follow the advice of those that came before me, and trust that the path they have put me on will guide me into a great person.

But would that person be me?

“I’m not going to waste my time screaming into the void. I’m going to find you, plant my feet, and from my own mouth, say the words I need to hear the most.”

I wish I could tell you

How much I miss you

Without it having to feel

So pathetic.

 

I don’t expect you

To return to me

Any of the things

I gave to you.

I just want a chance

To say the things

I’m still feeling.

 

You don’t have to listen.

Even though it’s your name

Whispered between my breaths,

You don’t have to listen,

Because those words

Aren’t for you.

 

I want to tell you

How much I miss you

Because I’ve finally learned

How different that is

From feeling like

I need you.

 

So I miss you,

But I don’t need you

Anymore.