A Letter--I'm Sorry

Have you ever felt like dying
just because you wanted to

feel THAT way,

a parasol drifting,
ripped into a tree
after too much turbulence?

I hope you don’t grow to resent me
for those words and these calls
all each day a mirror
stretching onward in forever

Time is like my mind—pressing ever inward
because the out is too far;
It’s warped and tied up and left clear
like a scar
one can see into and pick at
your best nightmares

But really it’s a lie because that’s what I’m describing…
Don’t you see
Through words that are buzzing yet fleeing
from my body in excess.

The word “Help” is all I can manage
to watch fly through the room;
The rest!
to me are stone-carved balloons.

Pointless.

And yeah I did it—this drug—and yeah I overdosed—
I did!—
on all those little pink pills
made in the shape of one breath.
Too many, too little
exists to satiate my lungs

I’ve taken this life for near as never

Razors scrape my mind—every inside
surface— and bind
and it hurts
But I’m worthless like and praying for dirt
naps, scraps of tangible
dignity, soft water in the throat;
But no those are tears
streaming and climbing up out of me
like demons and, like water falls,

hard and painful

Do you know these?

Panic attacks in the form of
silent reservation in a crowded street
at work in the arsenic of raining hearts
and desert faces

And panic attacks
and existential cracks
as screams enveloping the streets
for minute miles
as I drive around slinging
up hope like rain water
across the sidewalks,
all the while singing,
bringing those screams emanating
from my car and me like a captive passenger;
but no one comes,
no one cares, about the prisoner
who’s trapped in there

But as I said, these are thoughts,
merely drought in an ocean tide—
just thoughts from a child
of naught and of night
and of naught but terror—
yes, terror—and light
doses and heavy warnings

Everyday, I’m cauterizing
cuticles of synapse
and syntax
and I can’t “just relax”
because if I do
I’ll snap right into
a relapse much like a gun
with its recoil laughter

Please, don’t patronize me
Don’t anchor-tie me
while I capsize my eyes
with caps the size—
and capsules, besides, the size—
of my pride—small but many

and darkness

It doesn’t matter their age;
people don’t want the toy
that is broken,
and the same goes for people
with too much emotion.
These thoughts are spinning and
now, I...I’m choking on ropes
that are made of too-thick veins

I can’t sever or deliver myself
from these thoughts in my brain.
But they’re just thoughts, I swear
they’re only tangible thoughts.

For no man can kill me,
and no woman
(But I’m not a man, I’m a soul in division!)
I’m already dead;
when I died
all they found was my
blood made from cyanide;
my body was only blank
space to you

No, not you! I’m sorry.

Who am I to blame nature for working as intended?

I am the off-brand
liquor staining the carpet floor—
a deep auburn muse—
knocked from careless stupors,
poorly used,
poured in thick bright drops
glinting from the bottle
I’m the broken glass, too,
scattered
in the way
a bird takes nectar and pollen;
no matter what you do,
you’ll never pick up all of me.

I’m sorry I couldn’t
be a better anything.
You deserve to have
your own dreams: all those
butterflies with razor blades
for wings; all those sirens that dare
to sing your name across the warping
sidewalk city; all those pensive
pendants with fallen stars
for beads.

Don’t just read my face,
my eyes, Don’t just read
my stupid guise;
It’s all lies and it’s all a display
when I tell you I’m fine or “No, I’m okay…”;
when you ask if something’s wrong.
All along, we’ve been friends,
but I’ve been that before and I know how it ends:

First, my heart lends itself
to your ears and the next thing I know
my mind’s full
of paling tears and concrete
fear of the next great
abandonment soon to take place
some “years” from now
and I just can’t handle it.
It’s all just for granted.

I’m sorry.

I told you, my years
go by in the minutes of days.
The only phrase I have strength to say
enough of is I’m sorry…

I suppose you probably resent me now.
That’s perfectly fine because
so do I!
Don’t hate that fact,
all your hatred’s for me.
Remember? That’s how it should be.

The only thing I can plead is
I’m sorry

Just promise me one thing—that you won’t be
the mirror of me
Don’t devil up or give the world down, Lizzy

You are my best friend;
Death is only an acquaintance.