i was good. i was really good.
haha vent poetry/ramble thing because thats what we feelin
uhhh tw implication of unaliving, general mean anxiety thoughts, gun mention,,
nobody noticed the way “gotta do more gotta be more” stuck in my throat today
or if they did they chalked it up to the crying
and the crying they chalked up to the stress
and the stress was chalked up to the test
maybe the test unlocked something i’d done a good job of suppressing
maybe the test is what they want to blame it on
but this inferno has been eating me up from the inside
they tell me neil would be proud and she says he wouldn’t want me doing this alone
they tell me he’d see a little him when he looked at me
he says we’d get along
but i tell myself he’d hate me
i could never be someone neil loved, i echo the thought often
i’m messy, i’m pathetic
and nothing but a goddamned attention whore
who cares if i couldn’t breathe with that booklet in front of me and the pen almost fell from my fingers
all i did was learn to cry on command, did i not?
i don’t care how real it felt to me, how much i want to rip myself apart
i’m faking i’m faking i’m faking i’m faking
i’m falling apart but none of you fucking see
because i say i’m fine and because i’m so good at lying you believe me
i let him back in because i wanted to be torn apart again. because i know we’re bad for each other and i assumed he’d hurt me again, and i wanted him to because i deserve that
i’m shaking and cowering in the corner of the dark room, resisting the pull to the window, ignoring the call of the snow, how pretty it is.
the crown of sticks is uneven on my brow, and i set it down, tired of the weight
the weight of a hundred worlds
my mother’s, one group of friends, another, a third, my father’s, myself
all different me’s. because i’m not palatable to anyone
i try to resist the call of the study, the comfort of the desk chair, somehow both worn and not
and somewhere in my mind neil pulls me into a hug, and lowers the gun from my head
but he isn’t real and he isn’t here
and i can’t help but feel
i’m better off dead.
it’s him that should be alive. he’s so much better than i.
even as a fictional character, he adds so much more to the world than i could hope to.
we should trade endings, neil and i
he gets the bookstore in new york
the records and the friends who stubbornly refuse to leave him and help him through any pain he might encounter
that’s what he deserves, not what he got
i’m the one that deserves that.