My Deepest Poetry

Corrupted Is Your Name

I will not corrupt this writing with your name but your existence has broken me. Not the 'drop a glass and watch it shatter into a million pieces' broken but the 'cant get up off the floor because as soon as you stand up you feel that whole in your chest even more' broken.

I needed closure in a home that has burned to the ground with no explanation why. Bring me closure for how much time I've spent staring at a TV screen and not looking at the whole picture.

The amount of irrelevance on who's to blame has no weight upon why you broke you promise to keep what I gave you safe.

                   That was my heart.

That was my heart that was whole and that's my heart now out in the floor with the rest of my pride and dignity and boxes of your shit. Paint me black but I was a dark red. A soft dark read with canvas with frayed edges. You were no art show but I was a blank canvas for you to paint and discard.

I wont corrupt this with your name but I hate what you've done to me. My head is critical and you have resigned your care from what use to excite you.
You have no use for me so I must be trash.
Trash that cant breathe at night.
Trash that is grieving.
And trash that never had a purpose huh?

      Now I cant get up with out breathing like it's my last breathe.
I cant turn over without waking myself and breaking.
I cant go with out these pills I despised.
The pills they described, for another warn and used life.

              You want to ask me how I see myself???
Unworthy it seems,
I know that that's mean to myself but useless. I feel inadequate and stupid. I still cry and those tears should be for someone who will actually love me but my head is broken so I guess my priorities are a bit lost right now.

I will not corrupt this writing with your name, I just want you to know I wish I could say goodbye.
I wish I could more than I ever have and it's funny how I'm fighting for my own life when I've done nothing wrong but the tables turn,  dont they?

Each second is blistering to my chest and each breath is like a razor to my head and I ask myself why?
                    'Why am I still here'?
Though those reasons may be unclear, I'm healing

Through a drink
Throught a half smoked cigarette
Through the kind words I hear everyday.
I'm surviving
Grasping onto an edge.
Yet I'm still here.