11:00, 2:00 AM


i take a knife and stand in the dark.
the light flickers – there I am.
A mad smile – death in hand.
I can use it one of three ways –
i stand and sit, stand and sit,
run the blade over my pretty, pink lips.
Van Gogh, Van Gogh –
dead, doesn't speak.
The deep was a puddle to me.
I can cut away pieces I despise,
can cut through my heart to die,
can cut new lines.
will it matter to anyone, choose number two?
will it matter to anyone, choose number three?
nobody has ever been in love with me.
I walk alone in my own pain,
dreaming, screaming your name.

I hate you, I despise me –
I'll use the blade
And I guess we'll see.


Patti – What I Think – Robert


He inhales cocaine.

I die, gasping for breath, wake up on another man’s couch, miss everything about my soul and he—well, he inhales cocaine.

He rolls a dollar bill and closes his lips, takes a deep inhale.



He mixes it with alcohol.

I’m dead but he’s fine. I’m dead but he’s fine I’m dead but he—

He calls to check on me.

What happened to 16, J? What happened when we were young and innocent and I was too sweet and you were too smart and we had never done a thing in the world what happened to sixteen, J?

Now I’ve been—killed. Ripped apart, blood everywhere, I’ve been murdered and I’m gone.

And you’ve inhaled cocaine.