Ready, Set

ready, set, stop.
I am fucking tired
of setting myself up
for failure
and writing love poems
to ghosts.

I end up sitting stagnant
smoking cigarettes and
bleeding onto paper
hoping for
something
different
to happen.

it is astounding
how wrong
I always am.

everything that has hurt
me should prepare
my stupid heart
for the shut-down, but
I am still here
writing
and waiting

and fucking
myself over
and over and over
again.

ready, set, stop.
it is time
to let go
of the stench of
yesterday
and all the bullshit
that has built up.

I am over
being over it.

I want to be ready
but I am set
on stopping.
help me
learn

to start.