i was tricked into changing for the worse
and maybe next year for my birthday we can have a candle for every unmentioned (unnoticed) suicide attempt and my family can blow them out with frowns on their faces
maybe next year we can dance over my dead body with smiles because they’ve wished me dead since the moment i was real
i have lived a thousand lives, and now i am tired of living
i’ve been happy… disgustingly sad and angry
this existence has taken hope from my palms, turned it sour, sweaty, expensive
and thinking about all the people who could have been born instead,
i mourn this wasted potential
it all comes back with a little bit of help, surrender, disappointment. turn yourself off for hours, months, but come home to yourself, come back with a bit of splintered disappointment stuck in your toes like glass.
i let nostalgia sit so close to me on the train that their fingers tickled the lump at the back of my throat. They say, You’re still listening to the same songs you loved in high school, you’re still angry like you were in high school, and nothing about you is exactly as it was in high school.
the inside of my nose stings and my eyes scatter over the edges of disappointment, because i remember how it felt to feel when i wasn’t ashamed of feeling. i remember how it tasted to enjoy other people, other things, any things. now i have silence like a lemon wedge between my teeth, bitter in the memory of jokes and words and advice.
nostalgia curls the ends of my nails, and i am used to holding on to the bad things longer than anything. i have ruined myself.
i op shopped around for my old skin
they said they sold it to make shoes, shoes worn for champagne
traced it back a year when i cut it open into shreds for me to wear like an ink blotch
happier, this is a Happy story
cloned out of a hospital bed, memories back inside a book of doll houses, remember me less