monday, jan. 24 - 9:21 pm

i've fucked up - and somehow more ruined it for you than for myself. for us. words come easier when the red is spilling down. in my lungs. in my eyes. my ears are blocked. i am dying - more on the outside than in. desperately sucking down a stolen cigarette trying to get the words i so desperately need to say to you out there. i need it out. i can't get it out. i can't rid myself of this guilt. i can't wash myself clean of this sin.

i need to be less selfish for once. can't steal you away every minute of every single fucking day. but i need you the same way i need the air in my lungs and the red inside. you aren't the moon. you've never been the moon. you're the earth. the flora and fauna. the water in my lungs and the entire atmosphere. i need to be less selfish for once.

laying on your hospital bed, grasping your fingers and pleading for forgiveness. this is how it always ends up. the worry, the sick, the iv drip. how can i save you? how can i help? i'm so sorry.

how bold of me to assume i could be the moon for you. i am dust. i am the spiders. i am the dark. i am everything mothers need to protect their children from. i am the things that taint the world - you. i am everything you hate. i am a wreck. i am so sorry.

how bold of me to call myself a poet. redundant words from mediocre fingertips. i am so sorry. when's the last time i said that? i am so sorry for everything.