“You were always the
Kid we never worried for.
You didn’t get in
Trouble like your bros.”
Maybe if you had worried,
You’d have seen the shit
That happened to me.
But I took it home and locked
It up, slow poison.

“You were always the
Kid we never worried for.
You didn’t get in
Trouble like your bros.”
Maybe if you had worried,
You’d have seen the shit
That happened to me.
But I took it home and locked
It up, slow poison.
I wanted to catch
Your conscience by telling you
Honestly about
The pain you caused me
But you just tightened your grip
On my throat, grinning.
Better plan a quick
Funeral because you are
Fucking dead to me.
Your encouragement
Is Vaseline soaked gauze on
My sucking chest wound.
You have to give up.
Hope is what is killing you.
It will never change.
It will always hurt
Like this. Nothing will improve it.
Release it and breathe.
I identify
With former child stars, washed
Up. Anonymous,
Unaddicted, still
Am I a tarnished relic
Of former promise.
She keeps her martyr’s
Funeral pyre beneath
Our bed, ready to
Light and lay upon
It, devoured in flames like
She always wanted.
I recollect this,
Decide to keep my mouth shut.
The fire smolders.
Each day I chisel
The rough surface of this rock,
Trying to find the
Sculpture. I chip off
The words I don’t want to say,
“I don’t feel close to
You right now,” “I take
Pills to make life bearable,”
“If I could run, I
Would.” Another chip.
“I know you sense the dread in
Me, but haven’t the
Words to express it.”
“My best days are behind me.
They flew past while I
Was waiting for some
Validation that didn’t
Come. There is less of
Me each day.” I would
Rather die with these words not
Said, than hurt any
Of you. Alas am
I fated to wound you to
The core. Chip, chip, chip.
You are so joyful
And I mean nothing to you.
I wither and die.