V. H. King's Ink

your friends don't hate you,
they're just exhausted
and can't help you, as much
as they wish they could. 
you'll have to figure this 

out

on your own. too bad 

you've cut yourself off,
can't trust anyone else for 
all the ways you've been 
treated like a trophy. 
on the other hand—this is

how they love you best: 

awful and furious,
terrible and aching
doing worse
dazzling everyone—

look how far you've come 
always looking over your 
shoulder, failure, dreams

derailed. denied. 

still, that voice: 
no one can help
you. no one can 

fucking help

you. get used to it
already. remember
to live, anyway