Stage 1: Feel Less Than Human
Get stuck in a daze for days
and forget that I’m part of anything.
Leave my guitars in their cases
and the song writing to the musicians
because a catchy hook and a melody
never fixed anybody’s problems.
Lay under the covers in my bed all day
and turn on the television even though
I’m not watching it. Play music
in my car but don’t sing along.
Realize at the family party
that everyone is laughing and I missed
the joke. Don’t care to ask what it was.
It wouldn't make me laugh anyway.
Skip meals because everything
makes me feel sick. Refuse to open
my camera roll. Refuse to open
my messages. Refuse to open
my bedroom door. Refuse to ask myself
why you never called back.
Tell myself to stop thinking about you.
Tell myself to go back to sleep.
Being awake is futile anymore.
Stage 2: Get Angry About Everything
Slam down the box of flowers
that just came in at work
because each flower costs $3.33.
Slam the dashboard with my fist
because the light has been red
for too long. Slam the shit out of
my drumset and bend the cymbal
so it doesn’t sound right anymore.
Throw my phone on the ground
when a girl on Tinder tells me
she likes my black hair the best.
Leave another girl on read
when she asks me to stay the night.
Tell the girl on snapchat to leave me alone
because she’s not the one I want.
End the conversation with my sister
when she says “you didn’t even know her.”
Tune my dad out when he says
“you need to delete your conversation
with whoever this is, it’s taking up
too much space on your phone.”
Pretend I need to refill my glass
and excuse myself from the table
when my aunt asks me if I’m seeing anyone.
Escape to the bathroom when I anticipate
any more questions being thrown my way.
Say “can we not talk about it?”
when my step-mom tells my family
I’m never not involved with someone.
Yell “we’re not gonna talk about it”
when my step-mom insists
there must be some girl I’m seeing.
Escape to the basement.
Play an aggressive game of pool
by myself.
Stage 3: Blame Myself
Smoke for the first time
since last year. Look at myself
in the mirror and look away.
Question what I’ve done.
Question what I’ve said.
Tell myself we could’ve been friends.
Remind myself I love you too much.
Tell myself I should have stayed.
Remind myself nothing would have changed.
Tell myself I’m a fucking idiot.
Remind myself it’s true.
Wonder if I should come back.
Remind myself you’ll never forgive me.
Ask myself if I should have called,
if I should have kept fighting,
if I should have been more mad,
if I should have warned you,
if I should have kept my promise,
if I should have believed you,
if I should have believed my gut,
if I should have left you alone,
if I should have let it go,
if I should have let you go sooner.
Remind myself I was doing my best.
It wasn’t enough.
Shut the voice up.
Drink it away. Smoke it away. Sleep it away.
Make it go away, please.
I wasn’t enough.
It will never go away.
I broke my promise.
But so did you.
I left you and I’m sorry.
But you left me first.
I was such a coward.
But you let me be scared.
It’s all my fault.
I know it is.
Stage 4: Cry About Everything
Cry when I see that someone spray-painted
“I miss you” in green letters onto an overpass.
Cry when my dog jumps off my bed
to go sleep in the hallway instead.
Cry when I can’t find my favorite blanket
in any of the boxes since I’ve moved.
Cry when I buy a twin bed for my new room
because it's plenty big enough for one.
Cry when my coworker tells me
his girlfriend is a cosmetologist.
Cry when my dad and grandpa
are talking about cars and my dad says
“we took the MDX to Myrtle last summer.”
Cry when my step-mom asks me if I’m ok
and says “you seem kind of irritated.”
Cry when my family starts talking about guns.
Cry when the compass in the corner
of the rear-view mirror reads S.
Cry when a storm knocks all the new
Gerbera Daisies onto the ground
and I have to clean them up alone.
Cry when my grandpa says
“everybody has that one person.”
Cry when I accidentally unpack
the notes and the gifts you sent.
Cry and never stop crying.
Don’t try to wipe my face. It’s pointless.
They will only keep coming.
Stage 5: Acceptance
Accept that I’m meant to be alone
until I find you again.
Accept that you are the person
who finally broke me for good.
Accept that the tears will never stop
and the healing will never start.
Accept that you didn’t have the energy.
Accept that whatever energy you did have
wasn’t made for me.
Accept that you couldn’t fight for me--
or was it that you wouldn’t?
Accept that I will never move on.
Accept that this room will only get darker.
Accept that these thoughts will only get darker.
Accept that black is my new favorite color.
Accept that I’m lost.
Accept that you’re still the first thing
that comes to my mind in those few seconds
between sleep and consciousness.
Accept that I will never touch you
except in my dreams that feel more like nightmares.
Accept that I have done something I regret.
Accept that I can’t fix me.
Accept that I can’t fix you.
Accept that I can’t fix it.
Accept that you’re gone.
Accept that you’re gone.
Accept that you’re gone.
Accept that you’re gone.
I can’t.
Get stuck in a daze for days
and forget that I’m part of anything.
Leave my guitars in their cases
and the song writing to the musicians
because a catchy hook and a melody
never fixed anybody’s problems.
Lay under the covers in my bed all day
and turn on the television even though
I’m not watching it. Play music
in my car but don’t sing along.
Realize at the family party
that everyone is laughing and I missed
the joke. Don’t care to ask what it was.
It wouldn't make me laugh anyway.
Skip meals because everything
makes me feel sick. Refuse to open
my camera roll. Refuse to open
my messages. Refuse to open
my bedroom door. Refuse to ask myself
why you never called back.
Tell myself to stop thinking about you.
Tell myself to go back to sleep.
Being awake is futile anymore.
Stage 2: Get Angry About Everything
Slam down the box of flowers
that just came in at work
because each flower costs $3.33.
Slam the dashboard with my fist
because the light has been red
for too long. Slam the shit out of
my drumset and bend the cymbal
so it doesn’t sound right anymore.
Throw my phone on the ground
when a girl on Tinder tells me
she likes my black hair the best.
Leave another girl on read
when she asks me to stay the night.
Tell the girl on snapchat to leave me alone
because she’s not the one I want.
End the conversation with my sister
when she says “you didn’t even know her.”
Tune my dad out when he says
“you need to delete your conversation
with whoever this is, it’s taking up
too much space on your phone.”
Pretend I need to refill my glass
and excuse myself from the table
when my aunt asks me if I’m seeing anyone.
Escape to the bathroom when I anticipate
any more questions being thrown my way.
Say “can we not talk about it?”
when my step-mom tells my family
I’m never not involved with someone.
Yell “we’re not gonna talk about it”
when my step-mom insists
there must be some girl I’m seeing.
Escape to the basement.
Play an aggressive game of pool
by myself.
Stage 3: Blame Myself
Smoke for the first time
since last year. Look at myself
in the mirror and look away.
Question what I’ve done.
Question what I’ve said.
Tell myself we could’ve been friends.
Remind myself I love you too much.
Tell myself I should have stayed.
Remind myself nothing would have changed.
Tell myself I’m a fucking idiot.
Remind myself it’s true.
Wonder if I should come back.
Remind myself you’ll never forgive me.
Ask myself if I should have called,
if I should have kept fighting,
if I should have been more mad,
if I should have warned you,
if I should have kept my promise,
if I should have believed you,
if I should have believed my gut,
if I should have left you alone,
if I should have let it go,
if I should have let you go sooner.
Remind myself I was doing my best.
It wasn’t enough.
Shut the voice up.
Drink it away. Smoke it away. Sleep it away.
Make it go away, please.
I wasn’t enough.
It will never go away.
I broke my promise.
But so did you.
I left you and I’m sorry.
But you left me first.
I was such a coward.
But you let me be scared.
It’s all my fault.
I know it is.
Stage 4: Cry About Everything
Cry when I see that someone spray-painted
“I miss you” in green letters onto an overpass.
Cry when my dog jumps off my bed
to go sleep in the hallway instead.
Cry when I can’t find my favorite blanket
in any of the boxes since I’ve moved.
Cry when I buy a twin bed for my new room
because it's plenty big enough for one.
Cry when my coworker tells me
his girlfriend is a cosmetologist.
Cry when my dad and grandpa
are talking about cars and my dad says
“we took the MDX to Myrtle last summer.”
Cry when my step-mom asks me if I’m ok
and says “you seem kind of irritated.”
Cry when my family starts talking about guns.
Cry when the compass in the corner
of the rear-view mirror reads S.
Cry when a storm knocks all the new
Gerbera Daisies onto the ground
and I have to clean them up alone.
Cry when my grandpa says
“everybody has that one person.”
Cry when I accidentally unpack
the notes and the gifts you sent.
Cry and never stop crying.
Don’t try to wipe my face. It’s pointless.
They will only keep coming.
Stage 5: Acceptance
Accept that I’m meant to be alone
until I find you again.
Accept that you are the person
who finally broke me for good.
Accept that the tears will never stop
and the healing will never start.
Accept that you didn’t have the energy.
Accept that whatever energy you did have
wasn’t made for me.
Accept that you couldn’t fight for me--
or was it that you wouldn’t?
Accept that I will never move on.
Accept that this room will only get darker.
Accept that these thoughts will only get darker.
Accept that black is my new favorite color.
Accept that I’m lost.
Accept that you’re still the first thing
that comes to my mind in those few seconds
between sleep and consciousness.
Accept that I will never touch you
except in my dreams that feel more like nightmares.
Accept that I have done something I regret.
Accept that I can’t fix me.
Accept that I can’t fix you.
Accept that I can’t fix it.
Accept that you’re gone.
Accept that you’re gone.
Accept that you’re gone.
Accept that you’re gone.
I can’t.