Scary In Love

with my dogs
though at the moment they seem all
I could possibly love
just now in life

I have this playlist on
itunes titled Suicide
and I worry that someone will just happen
someday to use my computer and
launch into hysterics because I have collected
thirty-six songs about suicide (or
that I think might be) that I listen to when I'm
caught up inside myself
because they aren't contrary to my mood
or maybe because it's a kind of vaccination
a desensitizing regimen
to help keep everything in that milieu
outside the wax covering that makes these passing liquid things
roll
off
me
please
or maybe it's because
I won't admit to myself that no matter
what happens or what I think or what I
do about my life
I'll never make this
hypnotizing possibility
S--top-ounding-o-weet-imple-oft
or maybe it's because
I'm truly broken
and somehow want to
just complete the picture

I cannot tell a lie, but I'm very, very good at concealing the truth.
And the truth, the bit I want to tell right now, is that I don't think moving will make a bit of difference except to change my daily location.
And the truth, the bit I want to tell right now, is that I honestly-honestly-honestly forgot what this felt like when it's lasting.
There's really no way to fix me, no way to save me, I'm going to live my life like this, all of it, and it's a waste, but it's what it is.