2:01AM; 289 Days Later.

They say liquids take the shape of the container they are put in,
I was full of the vast ocean you dripped inside of me,
head to toe were coral reefs, fish with no destination
but, I, 
was slowly draining, 
the bath water was almost as red as the polyp structures you built inside of me,
every drop of blood that flowed from my open wrist left me gasping,
like a fish out of water,
how beautiful it was to see inside of yourself,
my own Grand Canyon of a wound with a river of red,
maybe people would think it was equally as breathtaking

They say flowers can thrive even in dark places,
I tried to tell myself that maybe dandelions would bloom out of my abyss
but damn...

those are weeds,

I learned to throw myself away,
lust became the bandage that covered the bullet hole
but when I lay by your side I can almost feel the stitches,
the feeling of a temporary fix falls away like,
maybe I won't be broken forever,
you remind me that even weeds can be someone's favorite flower.

I try to tell myself that maybe my sadness is as temporary as my life
but something about me believes that I'm going to feel this way even after I'm gone
6 feet under feels no different than the way I walk through every day blindfolded...
maybe this is my darkness
like a locked closet,
the marks on my forearm are scratches on the door,
the endless intoxication a cry for help
but, nobody can hear you drowning
I'm
running
out
of
breath...

but all you can hear is my heartbeat throughout this empty shell of a human, 
if I were to fall over I'd crack wide open for the world to see my dirty nothingness. 
I'm permanently submerged in filth,
trying to make myself clean again,
maybe that's why my heartbeat is synced with this fucking washing machine,
I know no other stability.

The cleanest scent I know is the fresh cotton that emerges from clean clothes...

Cotton is a weed.

Our sex smelled like fresh cotton and regret,
and you kissed me like I wasn't going to be there to kiss much longer,
that's how I knew you were leaving.

Your presence felt as nothing as I was simply because it felt like you were already gone,
I was left with nothing but memories and this all felt like the worst damn case of deja vu
and all I ever wanted to be was something you were afraid to lose,
but maybe God doesn't grant wishes to people who sin better than they sing,

I am a weed.

Put on this earth for 6-year-old children to pick for their mothers on May 14th,
only to wilt within the hour,
disposed of,
the familiar phrase, "it was good while it lasted",
lingers behind like the burn of a shot,
I drown my dreams of you in cheap liquor
only to fall asleep and forget to die,
I tried to create a whole new plane in this world,
because when you think you're going to die, 
you become a much better person.