It's weird to feel your chest ache,
like your heart is freezing over.
Injected with lead,
and laced with depression
and anxiety
that skips in fragments and repeats like a scratched CD.
You can feel it soaking through
your veins.
Every bone,
every nerve is heavy.
It seeps through your aching stomach
and numbs your fingertips,
already deadened from
the absence of your hand pressed to her cheek.
And there's nothing to do
But cower, dig your nails into your palm that has
'i'm sorry'
written in smudged ink,

and let it hit you.

You used to touch her hair once.
Twirling the fiery ringlets gently
around your finger
and let them trail down her back
until your fingers found the spaces in hers.
But she pulled away
before you could
make her whole again.
Melt the lead in your heart.

But now is not the time to dwell
On things that were bound
to wilt and die.
Wake up, snap out of it.
Feel something.
Feel pain.
Come on, pull yourself together.
You can do more than this.
More than this pathetic pouting.
Stop it
Melt the lead in your heart.

You could no longer cry
so you let your wrists do the talking.
You draw a pretty picture,
one that reminds you of her hair,
of her touch,
that crudely twines around your veins.
The absence of all emotion remained in your chest.
How ironic,
that you can feel the absence of something.

Melt the lead in your heart

So you tried.
Stinging thighs
and blood dotting the carpet
was not the cure.
Neither was rejecting immediately what you ate,
or setting alight your thoughts
and inhaling them until you choked.

The answer was not found at the bottom of a bottle
or swallowing handfuls of pills
while you try to ignore the pain as you let your mind cloud over.

You have not found the answer
to lighten your heart
and make yourself feel again
and you may never will.
Which is okay.
But shape up, snap out of it.
Don't you dare think.
You can do more than this.
More than this pathetic drowning.