The Emotional Wreck and the Temperamental Boy

Yesterday you left me at the train station in the middle of the night.

You’re so temperamental.

I sat on the floor alone with headphones in and music all the way up.

I knew I was safe because that way I couldn’t hear my thoughts.

That night I smoked for cigarettes in a row

One

after

one.

I woke up this morning and I felt nothing.

I was empty.

Your mouth sucked the little bit of life I had left in me.

This morning I smoked my last cigarette in my friends backyard,

shivering from morning’s cold air.

It felt like fall.

This morning I went home and made a cocktail of alcohol

and washed it down with beer.

This morning I puked all over my bed room.

I didn’t even bother to clean it up.

This morning I apologized to you.

Drunkly rambled about how I was stupid.

Yesterday you tried to consumed me.

Even though I said no

you told me it’ll be okay.

So much lust.

It broke down my barrier.

My facade came crumbling down.

Then I thought about my sister and how she told me she lost her virginity at sixteen.

But I shook my head to the thought of it.

See, my body is nothing but a tombstone.

Buried in shame by childhood innocence ripped away.

By hands

and filthy lustful desires.

So I turned my body into a cemetery.

A place where the dead rest.

My friend says I’m always a wreck.

And I don’t want that to be true

but unfortunately it is.

I guess it’s cause I already weathered the storm.

and now I’m just lost.

I’m drifting with no purpose of reason.

Yesterday your hands left imprints on my skin

and so did your lips.

And the entire time you kept telling me how beautiful I was.

After the fact I didn’t feel dirty and tainted

and I guess that’s progress.