I am 15 now.On April 23.

So maybe this year will have a shimmer to it rather than the dull blade that last year had. Those rigid edges hurt.

Maybe times will balance out and the tears will dry up.

School is out in 6 weeks and he will come back to rescue me from drowning in a pool of black tar.He will stay this time, promise to never leave again. And he'll take me to school in the james-bond-black-car and we'll stop for a pack of smoky cloves and listen to Bright Eyes and Semisonic until I want to cry knowing how much I love him and decide I'd rather stay home in his arms reading Siddhartha and rambling on about alternative religions.

The lines of communication are open enough to see what is really trying to be said. If I doubt how much you do for me then remind me of all the graves you've dug me out of and the tears you whiped and the forgivness that a rootbeer soda has. Remind me of tight you can hold me,how soft you can kiss me, how often you worry.

Even if I keep yelling until your crying or I keep doing coke until I'm in rehab or I smoke myself stupid or drink into oblivion,I know you'd still be there,clasping my hands in yours and kissing them.

I know all the bumps or pills that an all in black mafia could afford would not make me smile as much as you do when you look into my eyes and tell me that they're too beautiful.

The way you love me is lost in beauty.Specks of you is left with me every time you leave and I hold then close to my barely beating heart until I can have your whole self back in my too beautiful eyes.

Happy Birthday to me.

Fuck of.