where i lay the past open, trace every wound to its beginning, and search for the exact moment something i would have given anything to keep had already died in my hands.
in the autopsy
and for the first time in my life, i understood what it meant to be abused by someone i loved sincerely, you've torn apart every piece of me. every plea meant nothing in the haze of your drunken rage. by the time the sun rose and you woke
in the autopsy
when there is no one left to love, i hope i will know how to love myself. you have spent all this time building a thousand futures, and my name does not exist in a single one of them. sometimes i wonder if you understand how heartbreaking that is. perhaps
in the autopsy
every glance you throw at me is another funeral i have to attend in my own heart.
in the autopsy
tumultuous; we all sat down at a little bar and talked about our mothers, as if we are sharing the same mother. the young man once asked me how he could be a better person, i told him to toss out his beliefs.
in the autopsy
sometimes, i was less important than the mess in your life. you could leave me alone because of everything you were dealing with. and because of everything you were dealing with, i ended up leaving myself behind too. you could get busy and forget about me for a month, while
in the autopsy
you once told me that sometimes, after falling all the way down and climbing back out of the black hole a few times, it starts to feel almost like some kind of extreme sport for people as damaged in the head as the two of us. for once, though, i
in the autopsy
that night, i realized i barely knew anything about that man. i couldn't remember his birthday. i didn't know his favorite color. i didn't know all the things he wanted from life or what kind of future he imagined for himself. there will always