what’s in this for me
we can’t talk about things anymore
the laceration
that was
our friendship
has healed over
and now it’s just a
superficial
scab

i would like to pick at it
see how deep it goes before you start to bleed
but i’m afraid
and your mother won’t let me in

i want to know what is going on inside of you
are you still as depressed as i am
are you still as fucked up as i am
do you still want to die like i do
but i can’t ask you
because you asked me not to

and what’s in this for me
i have no one else to turn to
ninety percent of them would turn me in
and make everything worse
and the rest of them would probably tell me
to get the fuck over it
and get on with my life

what do i do when nothing is helping
who do i talk to
i have no one to speak with
i miss your inhuman nothingness
i wish we could go back to where things were
two months ago

and then never progress
downwards or otherwise
because it was perfect
life was perfect
and it will never be
like that again
because i’m not allowed to speak