It is I, Garbage.

I would have died for you and you fucking left me like it was not a big deal.

I didn’t want to break your heart. So I broke mine instead.

Today the box cutter will rust in the garbage, the noose will forget how to hold you, today, today dear you, and I have always meant you, nothing would be the same if you did not exist.

He said, “I can’t be with you. You write, and you’re going to write about me. I don’t need someone else to point out what’s wrong with me. The days do that itself and I do not want to be in the center of your words; being charged with breaking your heart, the sleepless nights, and a prisoner bound to the lines in your journal. I do not want to be the keys on your typewriter and the pen you hold in your hand. I refuse to be the one who makes you write or stop writing.” “But darling,” I whispered, “What if these words will show you all the pleasant little surprises of life you have not encountered yet? What if I can show you what I see through my eyes when I look into yours? What if I let you feel the fire that does not burn and the sea that guides instead of drowns? What if we stay afloat on this ship, bound to love instead of just words.

And I am so sorry that you have days when you think about cracking your skull open on the edge of your sink just to let all the bad thoughts spill down the drain. I am so sorry that you have nights when you wish you could pluck yourself out of this world like a dead flower in someone’s used up garden I am so sorry that you have days when you wish you could take a knife and cut out the weight that has been tied around your heart, dragging you down all these years. I am so sorry that you have nights when you wish you could just sink into the dark, let yourself hollow out until no one can recognize you. But oh god if only you could see how lovely you are, I think about how softly you glide your hands and how gently you kiss and how kindly you whisper to little children and animals. You are so much more than these bad days and nights, those weeks you spent trying to kill yourself in the cleanest way possible, all those months you spent chiseling your bones to hollow yourself out, those years you were silent while your mind was screaming. You are so much more than the number of times the light in you went out. Because trust me, it came back, brighter than ever before.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness