My hands are jittery again,
I’m still not adjusted to being okay without
a little destruction – there is a small flame in my belly,
I am organized chaos.
The days I try to feel better often fail.
When I feel lost,
I wear your smile.
My addictions were never fiction.
I don’t like pinky promises,
I tend to rip thoughts through them.
Take me far from this place,
I don’t like to be filled with self hate.
We wish upon a star,
but the truth is choking my reality.
They say that we should love the process –
the progress of failure hints that success is close by.
I am alive
and I am trying.