I don’t write much poetry anymore. I guess poetry is for people who have a will to live, or enough of one to dedicate time to making words fit together to evoke emotion. I’m not looking forward to winter. I’m not looking forwards to cold fingers, cold floors and dark evenings. I hate the dark. It makes me sad, and feel alone. I wonder how often I was left alone as a baby. Why does being alone make me feel like I can’t breathe? I guess now I see why I was so obsessed with the last of us. I guess I understand Ellie. I just hope I don’t end up as she did, or at the very least, I learn to not be so afraid of it. I think if I don’t, ending up alone is inevitable. My fear has allowed me to lose so many people. I held onto them with grips so tight, my knuckles were white. You know, I always wanted to be a diary person. I have so many empty books, sitting around the house, waiting for entries that will never come. I guess in the modern age, this is my diary. Not private at all, but anonymous enough. I’ve always joked to myself, since the tragedy of birth befell me, if only I had hindsight in the present. I could avoid disasters and heartbreaks. I wonder what I’ll regret most as I’m dying.

I can’t sleep. My stomach hurts, and I’m cold. I can’t get you off my mind. I’m trying to get sober, and I guess my mind is looking for more dopamine. Alcohol is great for pausing your thoughts, but after this last year, I think I have to stop or I’m going to kill myself. I’m going to a pierce the veil concert in November. I was really excited when I bought tickets for me and my cousin, and I said “fifteen year old me would never believe this.” with a smile, and then I stopped. Fifteen year old me wouldn’t believe it, cause I won’t be seeing them with you. When you left, I knew my life would be sad. I knew that big moments would carry around a shadow because they weren’t with you. I expected it. But living it, oh my god. It’s so painful. It’s like someone punched my throat and I’m fighting for breath. I know that sounds dramatic, and I’m sure it is. But it’s how I feel. I miss holding your hand. I know that’s probably selfish, but.. idk. I miss sleeping next to you. I miss hearing your voice. I miss getting your texts. I miss hearing about your family, and your games. I miss you so much I want to cry. Ugh. If I found a way to message you, would you even reply? My heart tells me no. I regret asking you to reblock me.

I was right. I would kill myself when I left. It just wasn’t the bloody, over with quickly death I’d planned or hoped for.

bpdohwhatajoy:

Hope met wondering

At first they got along, but they ran into reality,

And reality introduced truth.

And truth brought heart break

And heartbreak brought pain

But you are not at this party

And I was always a loner without you

So I’ll drink myself to sleep,

And finally be alone, away from your memory

Unless he decides to visit in my sleep

And in that case, I hope I never wake up

At least I get along with dreams

Why couldn’t you take the memory of you when you left?

I wonder if you ever think about me on my birthday too. I wonder if you even remember mine. Yours has crossed my mind too many times to count in the last month. I’m no longer in your life but I wonder. Will someone get you a birthday cake? Are you alone? Will you get presents? Are you happy? Are you celebrating? We might not talk but my heart still wishes you nothing but the best. Even if it’s birthdays without me. So.. happy birthday.