when waking up hurts

(disclaimer :

i write about the past a lot. i'm not actually this depressed).

------------------------------------------

i'm driving up the canyon again because

my tires still haven't spun as many times as my head;


i'm too frightened to go home because

dad is drowning in the waves of medication

and mom is still at work.

& i don't want to stick my fingers down my throat again,

the notion is addicting

but i'm sick of feeling afraid of my body.

i can't come home because

i think i love the vein in my wrist more than i

love you

& i'm sorry;

(yet as i speak these apologies, i can feel the words

dying on my lips

as the funeral in my mouth

continues on). 


so mother,

i won't keep trying to immunize with avoidance

& get high with my blade

because those two habits will never coexist.

when waking up hurts,

when school becomes a graveyard,

i'll just take my car up the canyon

& try to stop holding my breath.

(but now

i can breathe again,

because i've finally crashed:

but after driving for so long it just felt like

relief).