WHO AM I ANYMORE

She was rose petals, and frilly skirts. Blonde hair and curls, always perfectly placed. She’d drink bubbly teas and ask strangers what their names were. I remember how bright the days were then, always seemed more vibrant than the past. Though these days never did quite seem to last.

She’d fade to this mellow gal, wearing overalls and had buttercups in her hair. Sometimes it was blue, others red, I think at one point it was even hot pink? She changed it so often I’ve lost track. Always smelt of fresh leaves and tea tree oil. I think she was forgetting to take care of herself. You could see the glossiness in her eyes, something wasn’t right but you couldn’t pinpoint just what. She’d hide it well through this ‘healthy’ thing she decided to take up. You know, green tea and yoga on fresh cut grass in the summer breeze. A charade that she truly believed.

Slowly, she’d forget. At first it was the occasional ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’, but tomorrow never quite came because each day would be the same. She switched her high waisted skirts and crop top tees for band shirts and ripped jeans. Her colourful hair was outgrown roots, tied up in messy buns. Not quite so bright, but nevertheless fun. But then.. came the drinking.

One night turned into two. And two turned into a week binge, having to be carried home by the club bouncer because she couldn’t do it on her own. She started asking strangers what their names were again, but this time for different reasons. She seemed to be missing something, herself maybe. That glossiness in her eyes was now a vacant grey and those grown out colours were switched to jet black hair, pierced her nose but swore she was okay. Tea was now whiskey at the bar where you could find the local punk bands play. Doing cocaine in bathrooms with boys she just met who she swears she was friends with. She was fun in a different kind of way. She was dangerous, a hollow shell trying to fill the void by any means possible.

The void slowly began to grow. She stopped going out to drink, but instead did it alone. Drank in dark rooms and wrote about how she used to be. It wasn’t too long ago but it’s hard to think that that was her. Instead now memories haunt her of her dark past and she realized that each part of her was trying to run away. And each time the memory of their hands on her, she would split into the next girl. Each time draining her to the point where she’d forget who she was before it began. And now she’s realized she’s ran all she can.

So she sits there, mind muddled between each of the girls she’s created and the nothingness that’s been slowly eating away at her mind. She doesn’t remember how she got here.

And I can’t believe that she’s me.

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like a fish on a line

Now I wonder if your “I miss you” was just a whiskey-fuelled way to keep me around. I’m tired of being that late night call, knowing you smell of cheap booze and cigarettes while I lay in bed wrapped in your t-shirt. You feed me sweet words and empty promises that I know have no substance but it keeps me going. I feed off of your distance, it keeps me grounded. You’ve become my centre, and I’m left wandering aimlessly as pieces, hoping you’ll bring me back together. I’m tired of leaving messages that go unanswered, of being nothing to you until you’re satisfied with where we stand. Reeling me back in like a fish on a line, with no intentions of unleashing the hook you’ve pierced through my lip. And I haven’t realized the damage it’s done because each time it rips, you kiss it better. I don’t know any better. And you know that.

What will it take? Until you tear me apart?

voicemail

Dialling your number with a sigh of regret, knowing there will be no answer. There never really is. While I’m laying in the dark, you’re swallowing down vodka and probably kissing a strange girl’s lips. I just need you right now, that’s all that this is. I just needed your voice, I just feel so low. I’m okay with just the bar noise or even if it’s only a “hello?”

lately, I only hear your voicemail recording

beer reminds me of her

I taste beer off of strangers tongues, reminds me of when our lips met on your fathers deck. The smell always made me sick but how I wish I could have one more chance to run my hand around your neck. To hold you on a couch that’s just small enough for two, and how scared I was of falling in love but you made it easy to.

Oh how I wish there was still something between me and you

5 years of hell

We started everything this day,
5 years ago.

Who would think 5 years of memories flood back within seconds.
Infiltrating my mind
Filling in the cracks of my broken
down memories
Mimicking the alcohol filling my glass
Seeping into corners that I
didn’t know existed
Knowing full well that they may never drain

The difference is that I have to keep filling this glass to forget
While nothing seems to make a barrier between these broken memories
Soon enough I’ll have to drain them myself

Another set of scars to add to my collection where you’ve become the main source of reason

cleanse

trying to find a reason to live in empty bottles, that maybe after my fourth or fifth I’ll find hope at the bottom. I’m on my sixth but I don’t care to keep count anymore.

for I’ve found more hope in the bottom of empty wishing wells than I’ve managed to find in the deepest corners of my mind.

 Im tired of tearing my mind apart in hopes of removing the memories you’ve left in me, for they’ve become ingrained in every part of me.

my skin crawls like when you were next to me. Something no shower can remove, no matter how many I take. It always feels like there’s a layer I cannot remove, one that can be temporarily hidden under the blood I’ve bled.

instead I pour alcohol down my throat, not that I want to drink.. but in hopes I’ll feel it cleanse me from the inside out

just for one night .. 

A Not-So-Merry Christmas

This isn’t poetry.

There’s no way to poetically word
how your fist hit my cheek or how
your hands wrapped around my neck so tight I wore a scarf until New Years.

365 days have passed and I still remember how I spent Christmas;
with a bottle in one hand
and an ice pack in the other.

Trying to soften the bruises
and ease the swelling caused by
your not-so-sweet hands while you were nowhere to be found.

I spent it alone while you were probably out with her again.
Maybe I tried calling you,
if I did you didn’t answer.
That’s something I don’t need to
think hard about.

That’s something I was used to,
you disappearing after etching your fingerprints into the valleys of my skin, leaving reminders like
red ribbons on my forearms.

Yet it was never a gift, more like
a painful reminder of the present.

Hoping to forget your hate-filled words you spewed from the bottom of the stairs.
Hoping to not remember the fear that had risen in my chest,
hearing your footsteps get closer
as I lay in the dark.

I’ve always feared the dark,
but it comforted me more in times of pain than you ever had.

Now I lay in the dark,
bottle in one hand.. pen in the other.
I spent Christmas alone again,
this time by choice.

For these memories are the reason
I find the holidays not so jolly.
I’d rather just forget.

Messy minds and hands that don’t feel like mine

I sit in a dim lit room,
trying to put my thoughts
into sweet poetry.

I write with hands that no longer feel like my own.

And my minds a fucking mess,
but no one wants to hear that.
They want unrequited love,
they want emotional spoken messages.

It’s hard to write that when your thoughts make you want to blow your brains out.

I’ve thought about dying
everyday this week.
I can feel myself slowly slipping.

The numbness sweeping through my veins

like a warm embrace
as I take those pills
and down this drink.

Close my eyes and await the morning,
if it comes this time.

The Rush You Gave Me

I’m trying to replicate
the rush you gave me.
I can feel your presence
with each bad decision.

I swear, I heard your voice that night
telling me I was being reckless,
but I know it was the drugs I took
mixed with whiskey.

I just want to hear your voice again,
so I keep doing it

Hoping you’ll say more this time.

With each glass I pour down my throat,
I can feel your arms wrapped around me..
Until I open my eyes and see her.

I would rather have you hold me,
but she’s here and you’re not.