Thoughts of a depressed in love teenager

Spilled ink

For six months, I said I would never write this poem,

never again drop my eyes on your words.

I found a new tree to write under, where you would never find me.

'Goodbye' would echo and echo and nothing else would sound.

My head thought:

"You're better now."

"This is better."

I've never been a good liar.

I've tried to improve.

But for me, every lie is a suit jacket that won't fit.

I'm covering my belly and pretending these arms aren't shoulder pads.

Everyone notices soon enough.

So why do I lie like a victorious historian?

Why did I stab you with words on the page?

I've spent six months writing lies to cover up these questions.

I'm done.

I'm writing under the old tree again;

the one with the bark we never carved.

There's no one else here,

but I almost imagine you can hear me,

that some part of you feels me screaming.

Here goes.

This is the only confession you'll ever let me give you. (I deserve that)

I don't know where to start, other than to say

You were right.

I was covering my eyes

but you saw every beast within me.

I lashed out like a fevered child and you let me split blood all over you.

I thrashed and kicked and you endured for far too long.

You were right about everything.

All the flowery language and half truths in the world can't hide that.

I was with you during the day.

My mind wandered to her at night.

Multiple stab wounds.

No hint of remorse.

She was always a warm memory in the back of my heart,

the way I feel safe when I remember living in my father's home.

But eventually, I learned that holding on to her was like trying to save my baby teeth.

She made me happy then.

But I am a taller man now,

and she is a shiny suit that hasn't fit since middle school.

In the beginning, I let her memory distract me.

I won't plead with you,

other than to say that this part of the story is no less true.

As weeks together became months,

you became something

she simply wasn't.

One day you were my world.

Every pleasure and pain was a light filtering through you,

through your every pore and artery.

You. My most vital organ.

This is the story I've deduced from the fallout,

from the wreckage that has become my life.

I don't know why I grabbed for her memory

and not your hands before my face.

But that choice destroyed everything I was.

And I'm sorry.

Though, this isn't really an apology.

An apology implies forgiveness, and you will never even hear this.

Really, this is me letting go,

releasing the last lie I've clasped so tightly to my chest.

A death grip.

You will walk for years,

icecaps will melt,

and I will always wish

I had chosen you.

- anyomunos