it's not worth fighting for.

last month we gave up completely. you packed bowl after bowl while i sat
in the bathroom and cut lines in my skin. you wanted to meet
the mad hatter. i wanted something to live for.




we sacrificed cable t.v. for open hearts and empty hands. we
called home wherever someone offered a pillow. we forgot about
responsibility and found out what it's like to live, let go,
breathe.






we called ourselves methodists and laughed at the idea of
communion coming with a straw and a plate. we would have been
in church every sunday. god just didn't sell what we wanted to buy.











-











time would pass and eventually, we would fall asleep.
you'll be halfway across the world before i wake up.














-




















once you came home to me laid out on the living room floor.
you pulled the bag off my head and the aerosol from my hands.
you screamed obscenities and,
"I'm so fucking mad at you."
i held my breath and tried not to laugh.


two days later i walked in to you passed out in a pile of vomit with your dick in your hand. you were shaking and coughing and choking and dying and i couldn't speak. i couldn't move. i couldn't breathe.


you took it too far.














i want to feel.
i want to fly.
i want to cryfucklovelaughlivebreatheplaydancescream.








and goddamn, i just don't want to hurt anymore.














-



























you and i both knew we wouldn't make it far.
i was scared of heights
and you never wanted
to come
down.