The Five Stages of Grief (Depression)

Nothing to You

Tossed away, 
used, 
abused,
consumed like last night’s dinner,

gobbled up quick.

Chunks of heart, spirit, and soul swallowed up,

down your gullet, washed down by Guinness and Shiner,

broken down in the intestines of the monster I gave it all to,

only to be excreted in nearest men’s room.

Waste is what I am to you,

leftovers in the sink diminished, demolished,

destroyed by the garbage disposal.

The roar of the machine as it shreds the very

last of me. Deafening. Fatal. Finished.

I am not even a thought.

There is nothing left.

I am nothing to you. 

The Five Stages of Grief (Anger)

If I could take back every kiss,

 touch and embrace I would.

If I could I would package them up,

send them far, far way.

Maybe it would be better to burn them up,

every memory of you and me in flames,

flush the ashes down the toilet,

send them to the sewer from whence you came.

If only I could forget every word that ever came

out of your mouth, the lies, the shit, the promises,

sweet nothings turned sour like milk.

Damn you and every moment we spent together,

you ugly, lying, gutless bastard.

I won’t miss any of it. I won’t miss you.

I never loved you, in fact I hate you.

I hate you!

Who do you think you are

walking out on me?

How dare you leave after you said

you loved me.

How could you look me in the eyes and lie? 

The Five Stages of Grief (Denial)

When he comes back…

He said he needed some time, needed some space,

but when he comes back things will change.

When he comes back we’ll be okay.

He said he loved me, looked me in my eyes and

swore he loved me. I couldn’t say the words,

couldn’t say them then,

but when he comes back things will change.

When he comes back I’ll love him over and over again. 

He said he lost his job, that he wasn’t in a good place,

wasn’t in the right frame of mind,

but I’ll keep praying for him, and he’ll get better,

so when he comes back things will change.

When he comes back he’ll be happy again.

When he comes back we’ll be happy again.

The Remedy

The remedy was in a bag of Spicy Doritos,
a liter of Mountain Dew, and a large pepperoni pizza.
Another break-up, another ten pounds.
Another ten pounds, another ten minutes over the toilet,
my finger down my throat.
The remedy was in hours of sitcoms and romantic comedies,
action thrillers and horror flicks.
The remedy was in tears that soaked my face, pillows, and blankets.
Tears that dried up, leaving my face a salty, crusty mess.
The remedy was in sleep, long naps, an early bedtime
where I could black out and forget, or remember
you once wanted me just as much as I wanted you.
I had hoped you would love me again but you didn't.
I found the remedy in a bottle of Southern Comfort.
It bit my lips like you used to bite and warmed my body
like Campbell's on a cold winter night.