Dear Justin,

Today is your 21st birthday.

And you’re not here. 

I’m laying here, wondering where you are. I also wonder if you know what’s happening here. Do you know that I fucking miss you? Because I do. And I hope you know that. Are you around when it’s 2am and the world is quietly telling me to go to sleep. Or is that you whispering that it’s okay?

I remember talking about the future. I guess this was at a time both of us saw futures for ourselves. Yours drained out first, and then mine started fumbling away. Anyway, you always wanted dogs. Great Danes, and a country home. Looking back, there never was a lot you wanted. Maybe I should’ve seen your demise coming.

Maybe I should’ve met up with you that week. I know you kept asking me. But I “didn’t have time,” you should’ve told me to go fuck myself. Would you have told me you were leaving? Could I have helped in any way? 

You knew I was sad. You knew I’d understand. But I wasn’t there. I’m sorry. I’m never fucking there. I’m still not here.

You’re not here.

It’s your 21st fucking birthday and you’re not here.

Fuck you. 

Fuck this.

I’m sorry. 

I miss you everyday my friend.

I’m sorry I let you down. 

I’ll be there.


Lipstick shadows and other monsters

I keep hurting myself and toying with this idea that I’m just a filler to the voide she left in you

I’m not sure why I create these thoughts in my mind, because I know they are not true but god does it feel like they are

Maybe my finger tips trace along your spine, and her lips form in your head. Maybe the delusions in mine aren’t going to solve the pieces of you that went missing when she left town

But I pull away because Im afraid. I am always afraid 

of  lipstick smiles that lurk in the shadows, using me to get to you

Of monsters that lives within these walls that I call my home

These words are the mark of 12AM and Facebook searches that leave my heart reeling and my chest sobbing

Game Over

I play Rock Paper Scissors with the skin on my wrist

Best 2 out of 3

And I always win

Leaving behind the remnants of thoughts I compete with on a daily basis

I often feel like there are hands wrapped around my throat, and maybe they are stemming from my own arms. 

I try to shove my breath into my stomach so I can digest it and be who I need to be

Who they need me to be.

When will I learn that these games are never fun, and that winning isn’t the only thing when all I win is this never ending pain.


Oh my love

Sometimes I find the secret poems he writes about me,He describes me as his angel. The girl he’d give his life for. And it breaks my heart to read the words about how broken I am and how desperate he feels about it. 

Hopelessness is the one feeling we both share when referring to myself. I wish every night to wake up and magically be healed, so that I can kiss his lips with relief, knowing he too will be set free from my demons. But, it seems like that day is far off from now. So we will wait, hand in hand. Against the storm we prevail, maybe there is something to lose but our love will always win.


I’ve become this fragmented shell of a girl who used to draw constellations in her sleep. Now, she only haunts herself and walks aimlessly through the night.

my brain is dull and numbed out by prescriptions I can’t even pronounce. I don’t remember the last time I felt in control, but there was a day when I felt I could be something. Then they started playing with the serotonin levels in my head, the balancing act began. But I am not able to walk the tight rope they’ve laid out in front of me, so I find myself falling down deeper into this oh so familiar hole. The more prescriptions that are filled, the less there becomes of me.. 

I can’t think straight, which I’ve never been good at, but now the lines aren’t soft, they are blurred out completely. My ability to wake up feeling light and airy is gone, nothing tastes the same. Everything becomes stale. 

I long for the day I can feel free again. Even if the darkness still lumes over me, at least I’ll be able to look into the mirror and recognize my own reflection. 

My eyes will become liquid again, and my hands unclenched. Until then, I will take these drugs and swallow hard, fighting for the girl I used to be.