It might not be a 3 page long, double spaced dissertation on the given and implied eithics of self-love, but I've never followed the rules. So this is what you get.
Fuckin' deal with it.


Honesty To The Point Of Being An Asshole
or
The Internal Battle

I've heard all this before;
true friends who'll never leave
love like no other
a failsafe, protection,
24-hour hotline;
it fills me with so much fucking rage
it stings the backs of my eyes
it sets my blood to boil.
I know you've heard all this before
but you are amazing
you are one in a million
you are beautiful
I'll do anything for you
I'll save you...
I'll teach you to save your self
(I told her I had a nightmare--again--
and all she said was
The whole world is going to hell.)
How can I believe
two angels dressed in black
when my Angel, dressed in black,
knelt before me on one knee
slipped a glass rose into my hand
and a silver ring onto my finger;
look at them now
in a pool of rust
chipped silver
and broken glass;
pennies, and wilting flowers...
But two angels dressed in black
showed up at my door
entered without knocking
and fucking handed me my life.
The only ultimatum
was that there was no other choice
no other path
just varying lengths of time
between each step.
I do not trust You,
You, who I have known
since You came into existence;
who I have battled with
who I have loved
and hated
You
who is me--
so why
in the amount of time it took me
to fall apart twice, why
do I trust
two angels dressed in black?