Going Insane But That’s Better than Methamphetamine

I’m a
Dead bird
Coming back to life.
Call it a zombie if you want,
But I’ve already shed all the damn labels
That you’ve sticker stuck on me.
I’ll raise my skeletal wings
Shedding decayed feathers
As I raze the remnants of
our love, the unceremoniously
Trashed
Emotions
Of one and a half people.
Maybe if you put more effort
Into the stupid little book we wrote together,
The pages wouldn’t tear at the slightest touch.
Maybe if you had the courage to
Write in Ink, as I had,
The words you spoke to me wouldn’t be erased.

But maybe that’s what you meant for to happen
When you deliberately chose to write in pencil.
Maybe you knew that I would give up and
Pick up the eraser
To delete all of the lies
You wrote.
Maybe because you didn’t care enough you wrote in pencil,
But maybe because you cared too much
You tried to make yourself easy to forget.

You failed.

Going Insane But That’s Better than Methamphetamine

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