desired.
all I want is to feel like
someone wants to feel my hands
grip at the edge of sensuality
but the echos are no more
and the only time
my body feels wanted
is when I think back
to the darker times
when I didn't want to be wanted.
But now that I do
the feelings will never be reciprocated.
Jaded, I will always be.
Fading into the background-
just pictures and ones out of your reach
is the only sense of sexuality you seek-
perfection isn't me, nor will it ever be.
I just want you to want me
but I guess that can't be...
standards too high for you
memories too strong for me
what does it feel like to be happy?

I can't stop picturing
what my life would look like
if in fact it turned out the way I wanted it to.
My self-conscious subconscious would love you better
and I would take back every ******* excuse
I left you with.
I want nothing but happiness-
and that can't happen without you
the gaps in between my fingers become cold again
and your eyes are the only warmth I've felt in a long time,
so fill the dark void I spent my days trying to pinpoint
and draw the line where I can reach you
because you're the only thing I'll ever hold dear to.
It may be drastic to say-
but I don't want to live a life without you
so carry me under your skin
and make a sonnet out of my smile
you're the only one who ever sees it anyway.
You are found in every crease upon my smiling face
my body feels you in every crevice
and even when the evening touches my hips
and curls under my bedsheets-
only to kiss my lips asleep
that's where I want you to be,
curled up in the places next to me.
When the darkness overwhelms my eye sockets
and the depth of depression crushes my nerves
and I can no longer stand the sight of you not there
that is where you will find me.
So run to me when everything is crumbling,
I will be your safety net.
When your heart gets broken again
from the smiles you attempt to mend-
I will be your super glue.
Always and forever,
can't be forever without you.

I feel nothing,
just irreparable darkness and all consuming sadness
I cannot shake this feeling
no matter how many times
you think I can, it can't happen.
You don't ******* get it
and there is no way to describe
the way my entire body is trembling
just from existing..
I can't escape from this darkness
I have spent my days afraid of-
trapped in this repetitive cycle
of cynical thinking.
I want to be okay.
with every inch of my being,
each and every vein inching closer to my heart
the mere thought of being okay for just one second
the idea seems so euphoric
but it leads me to disappointment in the end.
I will be okay, eventually.
But don't tell me I do not feel these feelings,
that the words I speak are irrational and insane
because I already ******* know they are-
But I have a right to feel this way.

What would you do if every instance in your life
felt as if you were almost about the fall from your chair
but, you catch yourself.
See, I lost my balance and I keep falling,
never knowing when I will hit the ground
flinching, anxiously awaiting
for the moment my body meets the pavement
so I feel everything again.
But that moment never comes
and everyone around you
is yelling,
"Just spread your wings and fly."
"Brace yourself for impact."
"Don't over-think hitting the ground too much"
"Just think positive"
"You'll stop falling soon, don't worry"
But no one realizes,
the only thing you're capable of doing
is anticipating an introduction with the ground
you know will never come.
So the hands you tried to use to grip onto the edge of sanity,
are now trying to grasp any chance of survival you have left
but there's no ledge for you to hold onto
no safety net or parachute.
Just you and the open air,
accompanied by your constant fear.

This is depression
and I am falling every single ******* day
so don't ******* tell me I'm over-reacting.

I want to pick up the phone
and tell you I love you
shout it from the ******* rooftops
so you'll know I've felt this way all along.
I don't know how I can prove it to you
or if you doubt my every instance to try and let you know.
I'm ****** up,
I wish I could fix myself, but I can't.
The only thing I know for sure
is that I love you.
I don't know what else to do with myself,
when my lows are so completely irrationally low
you're the only one I want to talk to,
when something good happens to me
you're the one I want to run to and tell.
But instead I'm sitting here,
wishing I had some kind of backbone,
and some sort of security.
These bones are shaking from the things
my mind is capable of conjuring up.
The lower I get, the more I love you.
Save me, if it's not asking too much.

I told myself I wouldn't write for an entire month,
but as my anxiety attack of a mindset
blended with my desire to fly
I realized I was driving with the windows down
when the rain outside was pouring down my arm,
making a puddle at the thigh of my pants.
I had never once felt bliss like this.
The night sky kissed my open wounds
like mother nature was trying to let me know
everything will be okay.
I was told that I was nothing,
spat to the ground as the words left your lips
and you took a drag from that cigarette
you've been trying to quit for months now.
So I realize you are weak,
clinging to the addictions you cannot escape from
and I'm not talking about the cigarette stained teeth
or the coffee smeared t shirt..
You are self-destructive.
just as quick as 3-2-1
you explode your insecurities onto others
and I will no longer let that be me.

I fell in love once and didn't know it.
The eyes I saw the world from were blinded
by your keen distaste for life
and your knack for self-righteous cynicism
I grew up thinking love was just a myth
and no one, not even me was worthy of it
Then someone made me realize that the life I lived
was the one that made me who I was-
which was someone worthy of love.

So as I drove with the windows down
and rain pouring on my cheeks,
I realized this is manic if I had an explanation for it.
Then I smiled and realized
this is the closest I've ever felt to flying
and ******* I don't ever wanna come down.
So let me lift myself up until I can no longer
remember what it feels like to be grounded,
where all the logic is nonexistent
where I can learn to love myself again.  
That's where I was, that's where I'll always be
the day I picked back up my pen.

I've decided to give up on the things that make me happy because in the end I end up ******* it up anyway. I ****** up. I made the wrong choice and I am stuck here wishing that by some stretch I would obtain some life threatening disease so my ****** up tendencies would stop hurting people. But **** THAT because no matter what I think of myself, I am a good ******* person. You showed me that and I hate you for it, because apart of me is wishing I didn't think of you all the ******* time and about how much we have in common or how much I want to punch you in the throat because you know me way better than I could ever possibly know myself. I am ******* broken and the only time I feel whole is when I am with you but that feeling is far few in-between nowadays. I asked for help, I was trying to reach out to you in hopes things didn't change but I know they have. And it breaks my ******* heart with each passing day. These thoughts that encompass my mind are made up of what I have become and no one is safe from these hands that will break everything within their reach. So I give up on these things so many people want to cling to, I give up. Nothing is worth it anymore. I am destruction. Wait for it.

The distorted thing about being in love is you're always questioning if the hands you hold are honest or if their intentions go deeper than just modesty, if everything you've worked so hard for is just to occupy a space in their sheets. You bought me ice cream once, I didn't even have to ask you to, you just put it in my mailbox and told me to walk out and look inside. It had a little yellow post-it note on it. That was when I realized no one had ever done that for me before, no one had ever went out of their way to show their appreciation for me. But that was the last time something like that happened because the moment I became yours, you stopped trying. The sad thing is I stay with you because I believe all I deserve are nice words with no action to back them up. When in reality, I deserve someone who would move mountains for me, travel a million miles just to see me smile because I would do that much for someone. I'm sorry I feel so worthless but nothing makes me feel otherwise. I don't ask for too much but you are too selfish with your ways.  This relationship is a two way street, but yours in under-construction and blocked off to any hope of getting to you. I wish I could make you understand the way the things you do ******* my mentality and make me wish to god I didn't have such a big heart. Maybe I shouldn't have given you so much of myself just so you can throw it all away and pick it all up again whenever you do so choose. I guess this is what I deserve and maybe you were brought into my life to make me realize I will never be that person everyone else thinks I am. I will never deserve more than what I receive from you.

What the **** am I doing with my life? A question I don't think I ponder enough. Whenever this question arises I simply reply to myself. "I don't ******* know?" and continue on with my day not thinking about it again until my broken record of a mind wants to stick on that subject for hours on end, making me replay every decision I've made up until this point and oh ****... am I ******* failure? I have no clue what I want to do with the rest of my life, what if I wanna have kids or get married or be successful? WHAT THE **** AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE. "I don't ******* know" and I think thats ******* okay because **** I am only 19 and I'm not like Ted Mosby who thinks he has to be married by thirty.... ****, do I even wanna get married? The only thing I'm sure of in my life that stays is this pen and this page, these fingers and this rage and this insane desire to eat bacon at least once a day. I am ******, but I mean that's okay because I'm doing my thing, working it all out as I go. I am inconsistent and I change my mind more than most new parents change diapers, or housing, or credit cards when trying to pay for their groceries. I will never stay the same and that's one thing I can say for sure won't change. I'm okay, and I may not know what I want to do with my life but there's time for that. I have more walls to punch holes into, more nights to spend drunken slurring more secrets than I care to recollect, and even more nights spent alone crying into my pillow wondering why the **** no one treats me with the same decency I treat them. I guess this is growing up and **** I think Blink 182 depicted it better.

I don't feel it anymore,
the desire to chase something not within my reach.
It's like I have spent my life asleep at the wheel
unable to control any cognitive function available to me.
I will not marry a man like my father
but the idea is merely impossible
when the hands that tore apart our family,
have similar finger prints to every man I've ever known.
You cannot find anyone who doesn't remind you,
at least a little bit of someone else you know.
Someone you love so dearly to hate.
I will not adapt to those around me
I will grow lonesome and on my own
because that's how it's been for 18 years.
I do not flourish in your embrace
I wilt and wither and crumble.
Wake up, realize you are dreaming
that the only reason you stay
is because you feel less alone.

I've come to realize that everything I write is somehow about you and you are the inspiration behind all the madness and whenever something goes wrong I want to run, full force, into your presence only for you to say some **** to me that makes me laugh and makes me forget why the **** I ever had a reason to be sad. Maybe I will start believing in myself when I stop ******* things up. This mind has held onto the idea of you for quite some time and I can't seem to shake the feeling everything is already how it is supposed to be because losing you would be the second worst thing I've ever done, the first being hurting you. I am the global warming of many people's lives,  I burn down the necessities and I freeze, I make the breeze turn to ice and turn these winds into a windchill and my heart is cold again. My heart will always be unsure of who to trust and lust and love because I'm still trying to decide whether or not I believe in any of it, at all. I keep trying to tell myself I am okay, but then nights alone remind me that I cannot be who I am with anyone, because who I am is destructive. My aura alone could cause a hole in the entire ozone layer, then we would all be ******. I don't know what to think when every bone in my body wants me to think of you. The idea of you wrapped in someone else's embrace with a smile on your face gives me an inane sense of comfort. Because I am destruction, and I burn everything I touch.

*******, and *******. **** me? ohhh you wanna say ******* to me? Well here's a ******* for you found this **** in my pocket, got it half price at target that is why I bought it. Who knew it would come in handy.
Our relationship is like a deviated septum because one side is always getting more than the other and if you didn't realize, you're the deviated side because no matter how hard I ******* try to give you the oxygen your heart desires, you can't open up to it. You sit and block almost all of yourself off to the world and even off to me and I've only known parts of you. A small wind casting through an open field, this is how I feel. I am the tumbleweed in every boring movie scene, gliding by just so someone will notice me, but essential to essence nonetheless. So **** me right? Well frankly, I'm tired of all this ******* because none of it consists of love making, because I don't actually know how to make love but I sure know how to ****. And I find myself writing the same lyrics as Wale, I think this is what rock bottom feels like.. Because :p I :P find :p myself :p more :p content :p with :p being alone than I ever ******* have with someone else. Always stepping on toes or picking up the pieces and it's cool if you're parents are still together and you've seen love like that your whole entire life, but me? I haven't, **** I wish my parents weren't together maybe then I would be able to leave my prison cell of a room. I have seen love ripped from the hinges and thrown to the wind- like ******* Owen Wilson's nose type love. I grew up with that ****, but I still love harder than I ever have but you can't tell me that you do the same because this fuckery has been my whole entire life, so I have adjusted.
I have dabbled in alcoholism, and maybe a little drug abuse, but see these apples don't fall far from the tree and misery seems to be the best currency.
So who the **** am I?

I have long awaited the return of who I was and as this pill slips between my lips and down my esophagus, I am reminded that everything is temporary. The rage within me boils to the surface until every waking moment is spent thinking about my demise and I was never good with being on time. Either too early or too late. I always procrastinate the things most important and the trouble with timing is, it doesn't exist. So why spend life hanging on the edge of the lips you'll never get to kiss. Why exist in someone else's world only to be thrown from the grips of it. The years spent sulking in solitude taught me more things about life and myself than any amount of schooling, or reading rainbow ever could. The things I've seen before my eyes reminded me that being temporary in this every-changing life is probably the best thing for us all, because these things we endure can wear us out more than the time we spend in our cars or on our phones and I'm having trouble adjusting to daylight, because everything I ever see anymore is artificial and obsolete, but so are we. Every person you love, everything you touch will all eventually turn cold and frigid and into something you will never see again, we all die in the end. So take the hands that hold on to your hopes and whisk them into the same categories as your wants and your needs and be everything you've ever wanted yourself to be because everything is temporary. The trouble with timing is we don't have enough of it. The trouble with timing is these hands on the clock move every 86400 seconds, 12 days a week, for 165 days a year- so that's 525949 minutes. So we spend 86400 seconds thinking about the other 1440 minutes of tomorrow. So don't ******* waste it. The trouble with timing is the depression that follows, the moments we waste thinking about the things we can't control or the future we wish we could have. The minutes spent trying to talk ourselves out of anxiety attacks when we know **** well that never works. We don't have much in our lives that makes everything okay, all we really have is these imaginary things we wish we could grasp within our fingertips, like time and money and hopes and dreams but all of it means nothing until you take that step forward and remind yourself that nothing is ever set in stone and there's always a tomorrow so don't spend today dwelling on it. Take your time, but don't waste it. You are a delicate place, treat yourself as such.

I can't decide anymore whether I ******* hate you, or if I love you. This internal battle is not one I'm good with because I'm still not sure what love even feels like anymore. Each day you treat me differently, so I'm stuck here on the edge, waiting for the clock to strike me dead. I have no remorse anymore. I will do as I wish because I'm so tired of being cautious of each and every little step I take just to ensure your stability. I am difficult. I like cheesy movies, sappy sitcoms and writing poetry- all of which you one day love about me and the next, you're making me wish all my interests were the same as yours so maybe you would actually be interested in the things I say. You don't hear me sometimes, or maybe you just don't listen. I'm getting to the point where my own voice is being drown out by yours because it's all I ever hear anymore. I can't see the good that's in front of me because I keep looking back at what we were. My eyes are blinded by the tears that fall, they taste like the regret of all the things I've never said.

You took your words and with them you stitched together my lips and reminded me why my voice is so crippling. You made me realize that nothing I say to you will ever triumph over the negative things I do. The hands that reach over to hold me at night are the same ones that you used to speak the truth I think I've always known. Brutal, were your words and they shook me from the inside. You never look at what we are, you only look at what has been before. The deceit and treachery you've been apart of has now been taken out on me. I shouldn't have to pay for others mistakes. I start to wonder if the reason for your harsh judgment is because you hate yourself more than you think you do. But I hate myself too and all I want is to love everyone I see equally, so what does that mean for you? The person I knew has now become a mere shadow in the faded distance and I can't put into words anymore how yours remind me why I'm starting to speak less. The sad fact is I've never cared for someone so much and I've never had someone I care so much about make me feel the way I do about myself. The moment you came into my life I felt beautiful and soon that beauty slowly faded. I started to wonder why I was wilting and dying slowly and then I realized there's no sun where I am and the source of nutrients are scarce. The energy I have left has been used to keep me alive and I can't be your burden anymore. These words are my sarcophagus and I hope you enjoy the funeral because this eulogy had ended.

Everything about me is unorganized and messy,
like your favorite pasta dish, or romance novel-
There are layers to who I have become
and even more layers to who I was.
I can't help all my poems sound the same,
or maybe that's a good thing
because when the pain drowns me
in the same mistakes I've made repeatedly
I remember that I am yin and I am yang
all in the same hand.
There is no sign on my star-crossed heart
that says I can't stay exactly the same
there is no roadmap inside my dark defeatist mind
that says I can't change who I am everyday.
So let me be dynamic-
and never the friction between your sheets
because I will never be static.
I am a stone wall with every sad thing you've ever witnessed.
I am a garden full with every joyful experience-
The pessimistic paradox and the optimistic oxymoron
is what I have become and I'm still comprehending how that can be.
I have yet to find myself fully, but I know who I am
these words become my compass
and I wish I could just go north
but this galaxy that is within
wants so much more-
I will discover myself again.

Some days I can't think straight,
these words in my mind twist and they turn
until I'm trying to discover the bottom line.
Some days I can't think straight
and some days I think too much-
the words I speak hang on the edge of my tongue
awaiting someone to understand the intensity
of this overwhelming desire to speak my secrets.
Would you listen?
Listen as I sing from the rooftops my tragedy
and mask the brick walls
with the graffiti of my cloak-and-dagger heart.
This isn't closure, it never was for me.
The nights I spent alone and sobbing
have taught me more things
than any amount of advice can.
I have yet to be silenced,
because these words I write
and these poems I seek out
are the undisclosed reason for being.
I may have wanted to die many times
but there's a reason none of my poems rhyme
and it's because there's no rhyme or no reason to them.
They are stream of conscious
they are hanging on every word
until I have no more left in my obsolete mind.
Please don't test me.
I will be fine-
because I always end up that way.
One Poem At A Time.

The darkness engulfs me and the pain ensues. I have felt the malevolence of larger hands wrapped around my throat. I have felt the arch of your back on top of me turn into something that reminds me of a cataclysmic time. My eyes go dark and nothing seems familiar anymore. The incessant reminder of what was is something I can't run away from. The depths of my mind go farther and more undiscovered than that of the ocean floor. But the waves keeps crashing and pulling me, turning me into a tsunami of these dark uncharted memories. The only thing that holds me back is the memory of being held down and stripped of any control I had over my life. I cannot help these hands I hold remind me of stone sometimes, I can no longer hide these broken parts of myself. Naivety was my biggest downfall at a young age and I couldn't stop the fact that something so sacred was ripped from my fingertips and thrown to the floor as I watched in despair, thinking this is how it was supposed to be. Now the fog has lifted from my mind and these eyes can see clearly once again. Some time after, I realized I would never trust another man. Not when that innocence I had left was turned into these nights I spend crying on the bathroom floor clenching a bottle of Vicodin ready to lift each and every pill to my lips... it will no longer control me like this. These hands will no longer feel the stings of deceit.  This broken heart is being rebuilt, one fragile piece at a time. My sexuality is not to be toyed with and although that part of myself was stolen from me I am trying my best to get it back again. These hands are still grasping the idea of sanity , frail and bruised as they may be, I'm still holding out for something.

Just when I think you don't know me at all and that everything I've come to know and love is falling out from under me, you remind me that you've always known me. You've always known the part that tries to push you away because I get scared but you don't let that happen. You know I'm irrational and inane but that's why you love me. Everyday with you I am reminded to be a better person, for myself and those around me. I lived a life with my head in the clouds thinking no one wanted me, but you came along and showed me what the grass felt like between my toes and showed me the ground felt a lot more like home. Sometimes I try to rationalize love, to over-analyze it and dissect it, until I know exactly what I'm dealing with. But you remind me to feel with all I have and not to worry about the weight on my shoulders because we carry it together. Things are hard for me to cope with sometimes and these days feel so bleak and colorless, but you're always right there next me convincing me not to be afraid of the dark, to just wait for the sun to rise again.

I'm so ******* sick and tired of being just someone to you. I start to wonder if it matters who I am or if the presence of a body is all you need by your side to provide you with comfort at night. The friends and the nights of sleep I have lost for you are mountains in comparison of what you've given up for me- which is minimal, maybe just some time and your sanity. Your hands have held onto me for so long you don't remember what it feels like to be without. The cold between your fingers has been long overdue and I have been so worried about you getting frostbite I forgot to keep myself warm so I am left with a frozen heart. I would build you monuments and you would tell me it blocks the view of your precious sunset. I would sail the entire see to grab the sun and bring it back to you and you would tell me your skin is burning from the intensity. So it seems to me nothing I do, no amount of effort I put in will ever be enough, but at the same time it will be too much. So is it asking a lot to want the same treatment in return? All I ask is for adventures and surprises, maybe a second out of your day where you do something for my benefit.. But you're too busy stuck inside the monument I built for you and basking in the rays of the sun I brought to you only to never realize that I am frozen in your embrace. Parts of myself have been lost inside your arms, and hidden away beneath your sheets. I do not like what I've become, a mere shell casing of who I've been. Extrovert turned introvert by love's sinister embrace.

Halfway through halfway through my life I understood what it meant to be wanted by no one and not aware of anything all at the same time. I've driven miles and seen many places but they all fade to gray over the horizon. My eyelids become heavy as I think about the sleep that I need, but instead I stare at a computer screen. This life has brought me twists and turns, ups and downs and it's like roller coaster tycoon on an old desktop computer because these days I find myself trapped inside are slow and these words I am engulfed in are incessant and I can't seem to turn off full screen mode so everything that goes wrong I can't run away from anymore. The mistakes look me right in the eyes and deem me unworthy of avoiding confrontation. It seems these feelings are starting to demand refuge and they're tired of spending seventeen years in a cage. These matters can no longer be referred to as trivial. I have made more mistakes than I have made poems and I'm tired of being a victim of my own emotions.. No longer will I stand and watch the sunset slowly fade away. I will chase that skyline until I see the dawn again. I will plant my feet firmly on the ground and I will do the only thing I know how, grow.

I would like to be happy for other writers because they're a lot like me and in the same sense not anything like me. But these words upon these pages can't help but reel me in, whispering sinister secrets into my ears, telling me not to let in anyone and keep my pen to my self. These words are my wreckage and these bones thrive off of the ink that spills, spills into my veins until I'm not sure I have much competition anymore. It's a rush, an escape and a piece of nirvana flowing through my body. But I cannot help the fact I feel insecure. Everything I've ever done, or have accomplished has been overlooked or taken away. Not this time. I will write until my hands are sore until the crippling pain of arthritis makes me no longer capable of using my hands. I will then use my words to encompass the page because all I'll really need is like text to talk or something by then right? **** since the age of about 6, I knew this was my lighthouse, my way home when I couldn't see the grass in front of my feet. My way out of the dark corners and into the arms of those I love. The lifeboat I needed when drowning in the same sorrows as my mother or when I was drowning in the bottle like my father. This is my sanity, and in the same sense my downfall. So when I stand here and recite for you, write for you and smile and shake my head and tell you all these things about myself not many people know, realize it takes more than these ten fingers, these two legs, and this one thumping, beating out-of-my-chest heart to be this exposed and this naked. Usually at times like these, if i'm not shaking like a leaf I would be picturing you all as puppies, but now I'm just picturing you all as my family, my close to home even though I'm not sure what home feels like anymore but if I had to pick, and someone asked me on the spot, this would be it, you all would be it. So when it comes to writing there is no winner, or loser or anything in-between, there is you and there is me, pen and paper, shaky voice and butterflies knees, right here is sanity.

As I lay motionless, watching you watch the tv screen, I remember how much you mean to me. I remember how much I hate rhyme schemes and when you don't pay much attention to me. How I love your smile and the way you get so passionate about the simplest things. I enjoy that part of you. You don't feel like you owe me something. You make me laugh because you like my smile and not because you feel like you have to. I have seen the glimmer in your eyes when you look into mine and I am reminded that those are the moments I live for. I've never written in my life as much as I have while being with you. I think that means you bring about my passionate side about the simple things. I'm scared of the dark without you in it. You make me feel safe and I don't know what I would ever do if I lost that part of you. I don't know what I would do if I lost you. Someone could come along and show you parts of yourself you've never seen, like you did for me.. You can fall head over heels in love way more than once, but I hope the one time with me is all you'll ever need. But if one day, I no longer make you happy, I will do my best to adjust to a life without you.. But I hope, oh god I really hope I never have to.

I count down the days until the things that get under my skin decay me and I am left with nothing more than a stardust heart. These days blend together like water color courage and turn into something like acrylic coated love but I can't seem to make my soul worth selling. It never occurred to me this currency is something I have to base my being around but it is the sun and I am merely just the earth. Learning how to live, one rotation at a time. I will never stop spinning, and nor will my head because even when your heart stands still, it actually doesn't. The earth continues to orbit and the stars continue to shine night after night after night and so do you. We are the galaxy and the planets, all in the same hands that feed the mouths that are eager to learn and soak up knowledge. I have learned that nothing comes quickly or on time, nothing is ever planned. Everything is obsolete and ever so inept to stay consistent. So let these winds change, and the sky turn to gray. Let the sun take a break from chasing the pale on your skin and open those wide eyes and believe that not everything is worth knowing. You have to understand that you can't understand it all. Some things aren't meant to be seen, some words aren't meant to be spoken. So hear what you will and see what you want, because none of it makes a difference in the end. We all are subject to change.

IVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING. Ripped out my ******* heart and handed it to you on a silver platter and what don't you understand about that? I did, for you, the most vulnerable thing someone can do. So never treat me like I'm ordinary because you control the one thing that drives my emotions. So when you're lonely and missing me, remember that's where I am at every moment of everyday. See everyone feels things differently, but why do I feel for you a love so big it's the entire country of Russia? When you feel for me, well a love that's grand but I'm not sure how grand because you've never actually disclosed the information. Why is my love so big and so consuming that it turns me into someone I hate when we're not together? My anxiety without you is like your 8th grade best friend out to be exactly like you, but yet change everything about you so she can go behind your back and steal your boyfriend, while then making sure she ruins everything you've worked so hard for. I'm never sure if I have multiple personality because I become someone new every moment anxiety consumes my being and wears my skin as an overcoat, and uses my ego as a umbrella from the storm that is my train of thought. I DO NOT FEEL NORMAL. But does anyone, ever? What I'm trying to say is that, I love you. So don't ever take that **** for granted because I will become the Kanye West and Miley Cyrus of breakups. I will be everywhere you look even when you don't want to see me. All I ever wanted was to love someone and have them love me in return and now I have that. This feeling is the best worst thing and I'm trying to manage as I go. Loving a mentally unstable person is never easy, but ****** you try your best. I have to learn to love myself the same way you love me and I am taking small steps, but I am still moving forward.

You've over-stepped your boundaries for far too long, so I took sides. I drew the line you crossed and you just blew it instead. I gave you a dose of your own medicine and you starting enjoying the high. I began to wonder when exactly it was you lost yourself, so deep inside someone else. Tears became sobs and anger became overwhelming and you still stayed for a reason I'm not sure of. Wondering where we went wrong became my downfall and I wasn't sure what to believe anymore. You take the words from your throat and paint them over sinister skylines and I'm not sure you even know the meaning of a lie. Every truth had become unfamiliar and every bond became broken. I tried to get you back to the person I knew, but somewhere along the lines you became hollowed out by your vices and got lost in what you thought were escapes. Now I worry for your safety and mourn for the person you once were because that's not who you are anymore. I'm exhausted trying to decide if the words slipping from your lips are credible or if you'll be indebted for the rest of your life. Strength in my bones I have attempted to carry the weight on your shoulder and made them all into mine, but the load got too heavy and you were left with nothing, watching as I struggled to save you. I haven't got a clue left on what to do. But I will mourn for you.

Never feeling anything became my safe haven at a young age. Most days, the only thing I wished for was some reassurance, or some kind of mild affirmation. My days were spent bottling emotions because where I come from, feeling things gets you nowhere. The sickness that overcame my mind became who I was. Negligence molded my personality and I wound up in more compromising positions than I can count on both hands. Naivety became someone else's malevolence and my imminent downfall.

Recently, I have learned to feel the things I've always kept bottled up- so these emotions are new for me. When the wave of sadness overcomes me it's never just that; it's crippling and exhausting, and hard to manage most days. I never just feel something simply. Anger is always rage, jealousy is always extreme envy and insecurity becomes suicidal tendencies. This is all so new, and i'm not sure it will ever not be because I've spent 18 years hiding every single thing I felt for the benefit of someone else. Now these bottled up extremities are flooding over me like a tidal wave I cannot escape from. This is my high tide and I wish I could make you understand.

You come from love, attention, reprimanding and affection. I come from neglect, dollar signs, bruises and empty bottles. Where there was a vacation or a trip, there was a 4th grader walking an entire cruise ship alone in the middle of the night. Where there was affection, there was a command shortly following. I don't want to let my past effect my future but it's made me who I am. I will never apologize for who I've become because I don't exactly know who that person is. I cannot fault you for your flaws, even though they are little to none. But I am forever wishing these actions of mine didn't seem so foreign to you.

You were the first boy to buy me flowers and they weren't roses like all the other girls get. They were the colorful, cheaper ones and I liked that. That was the first time I realized that you knew me, a little better than I knew myself. I was terrified of you. Not in the way that I thought you would bring me harm but in the way that I knew you would make me happy and I didn't think that's what I deserved. I made you sad because I knew I couldn't ever be happy, but then you found love so I guess it's okay. I'm still trying to decide if I am finally happy because I'm not sure exactly what it feels like. I cry a lot, I guess I always have except when the alcohol masked the pain. But I didn't want to go down that road and now every time that sip hits my intestines I get sick. I guess it's for the best, isn't it? We were always meant to be friends, because it's simple. And this love in my life now never is. Maybe I was meant to be who I am now, in order to grow from who I was because I've never really liked myself. I'm not sure that part of me will ever go away. I guess being a friend is the only thing I don't **** at these days. I hope that part of me will always stay.

I dyed my hair today and couldn't stop thinking of all the people I would disappoint, but I dyed it anyway. I woke up today and thought about all the people I would disappoint, but I continued my day. See this life is filled with those who wish to keep you just as you are. But you, you are every-changing, obsolete and beautiful anyway. I try to tell myself I don't care about the people I upset by making the decisions that make me happy, but it doesn't hurt any less. I have become a gray, middle-area of who people want me to be. I have grown so accustom to others customs that I'm not sure where I belong anymore. No one seems to be around anymore and I have dug my own grave. Somehow this feels lonely again, the same loneliness I have tried to run away from. And just when I turn around to look, thinking I lost it, there it is as I turn back around standing in front of me, awaiting my next move. I may never rid of lonely. I may never be myself again.

I will breathe you in. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Repeat. Consistency is never my strong point but the only thing I tend to keep doing no matter what is breathing and blinking. My lungs have collapsed from the pressure of drowning too far into the deep end. My ears have popped and I feel that urge to breath again, but can’t quite get back up to the surface fast enough. I can feel myself giving up just as the break that surface and gasp for that breath of fresh air I have waited so long for, and that’s what loving you feels like. Relief. I have spent my days stuck in the dark because I couldn’t find my way around these walls I have built for myself. I wasn’t responsible enough to remember, I needed light. That’s when you broke down the walls I was confined in with your sledge hammer heart and built me the moon with only your bare hands. You told me you loved me fast and nervously and I knew then you were my lighthouse, my nightlight, and my bedside lamp. Always there for when I needed light. You’re my breath of fresh air on a humid day and you make me feel like walking into a refreshing air conditioned house on the hottest day of summer. My cup of hot chocolate after an all day battle with snow ball fights and sled rides. I’ll never need the drugs most people abuse because you are my high.

I am broken, again and again and again I try to put myself back together but these thoughts, and these uncontrollable emotions will not let me. I have been bent by instances from before. These hands will not let go even when I try to pry them off of what's been holding me back. Ridicule is what I am used to and in some sense it is comforting. But the incessant lack of decency that surrounds me makes everything seem so bleak. I am tired of being sorry for these things I feel and I'm exhausted trying to hide my pain for you.. Bottling up these things that hold me down is harder than I had ever imagined and I wish I could erase the pain  I feel for you but that can't happen. I cannot just wish away these things I wish to wash away, if only it was that easy. I am broken and your contribution isn't much but it somehow makes a difference. I need to find myself again and I need to get away before the elephant in the room tramples over everything I've worked so ******* hard for. I have no words anymore.

I try to be the person I’ve wanted myself to be all along. And I try to make you listen to these words I speak and hope you understand. But some things just don’t happen the way we want them to. And the days we want to sit out and watch the stars, the sky is blank and so are our minds. So I cherish the days my mind is filled with regret, and memories, mostly of the days I wish to wash away with those regrets. I will take each galaxy and paint them across my emotions just to show you what I feel is more than just an expression. I feel so low when the days are the same and even when the sun is out I remember when it rains and I’m not sure that will ever change. These moments of euphoria weigh out the moments of extreme distress when clutching a bottle to my chest seems to be my only savior, I savor those moments of mania because they make for a **** good story to tell. My days are numbered and so are yours. Whatever comes will make me or break me in ways that will alter me. Maybe the love for myself won’t be enough, but I’m willing to figure it out. I’ve spent years hating who I am and that’s the most exhausting thing I’ve done to myself. I woke up.

I hear myself think, but I can't ever hear myself talk. I mean I do but it's not in a voice I recognize anymore and I think I'm inbetween finding myself and losing myself. I'm not really sure which way I will go, maybe a little bit of both because that would the road less traveled right? So wouldn't that make all the difference? See I have an inference that if I try hard enough to control these things in which I don't think I can, I someday will and whether it be true or not it's hope that keeps me going. I am alive and it's weird to say because so sooo many times I wished I were dead. On every star in that **** sky I wished I had never been alive, but now it's so different. I wish on the stars to keep living and I wish for adventures and culture and **** maybe one day even children- maybe thats too far... and maybe the road I have paved for myself is mediocre because I have never done it before, but ******* I tried my best. These fists will no longer drag me down and this mind will no longer hold me back. I am not chained to anything anymore except some words on a page and in thirty minutes it will be tomorrow and I will see a new day again, one I had wished so long ago wouldn't come. But tomorrow, I will see the sun and the clouds and feel the grass on my feet and I will remember that even your self esteem can blow off some steam and your worries are just water weight you need to get ****** and **** out before you let them weigh you down. Stick around kid, it's worth it.

I hope for second chances in life, not those in which I don’t deem myself worthy of at least. I mean, I want another chance to speak these words to an open canvas of people and watch the expressions that fill their faces as I spill my guts on their shoes and reveal a little more about myself than they would infer someone my age had went through. I long for that gaze. It is filled with sorrow and regret and love and peace all in the same moment and I think that’s the only time I have experienced euphoria. I believe in life there always lies a second chance at something, or someone. But the second I chance that second of chance I become deranged and paranoid and I succumb to the pressures my anxiety puts me under and wonder when she will stop being such a psychotic ***** and give me a chance to live my life again. I haven’t been the same since the Effexor filled my veins and I’ve been scratching at my surface ever since, looking for a chance to find myself again.

I tell myself to rebuild these broken wings I find myself soaring upon, but I realize the necessary tools are missing. I try to get a handle on my current situation but I realize there's no handle on my bedroom door anymore and I am trapped again. I have made a mess of the remains out of broken dry wall and picture frames.  I rebuild, rebuild, rebuild but it's never like it was before. The paint is two-toned and some things can't be covered with a painting of your face next to mine. Some things can't even be patched up. Such as the way your eyes seem to guide me into a world that seems too daunting to stay inside. I let the breeze carry me away and hope the broken wings can still soar despite the damage that has been done. I have made a bed out of all my regrets and have no issues laying in it anymore and nowadays I tend to sleep better than I live. I have seen the misery in your eyes when the thought of me waking up without you on my mind crossed yours, and I've never felt so low. Plausibility isn't always the best reality and I know with you we have our differences, but that doesn't make a difference to me. Maybe the days I deem dull are just a distant memory and every time I wake up without you is a day I want to get through just to see you. Sappiness is not in my agenda, but intentions lead to attention on some occasions and I would like to spend every occasion with you.. Loving you has been the best thing I have ever done for myself. The first decision I made without anyone but myself in mind was when I said you could call me yours. Please believe me when I say, I will always be yours even if the day comes that we expire, I will age like fine wine, with you always still on my mind.

It's funny how conversation can change things,
and how the words that spill from my mouth
aren't the same ones you paint upon my skin.
The days that decay you are the same that betray you
and your lips quiver at the thought of it.
Would you still hold me close at night
if I would have never sparked the conversation.
If all my effort ran dry and you held the canister
would you use it to help me bloom
or would you let me slowly wither away?
I am done being the one man machine
for this two-way street.
It takes two to tango and I'm dancing alone,
drenched in sweat while you watch from the sidelines.
I don't think you know what it's like
or do you? and is that why you pause before every choice?
Are you too scorned by your past to realize -
I need you to try for me,
and maybe this is me being selfish
or spoiled or something
but I don't want to feel like one of the games on your shelf
I don't want to have to grasp you by the jaw
just so you give me something to work with.
There is no conclusion if your words are elusive.
I just want mid-day 'I love you' reminders
or appreciation pictures of us together.
I don't need too much, just a little is enough.
The hands that hold me up
consequently are the same ones that hold me back.

I spend so much time telling myself not to break
I forget to acknowledge the fact-
I'm already ******* broken.
The pieces of me are spread out
amongst the hearts I've ripped to pieces
not realizing because the bottle
masked any emotion I thought I had.
It ***** listening to the stories of her
how highly you think of someone
who tore apart your heart-
I guess just like I did
and maybe that's why I hate her
maybe because I actually hate what I did to you...
But still hearing her ******* name makes me cringe
because you were the first person I actually opened up to
and **** I ******* cared for you.
If you think for a second that I didn't
then good, that's exactly what I wanted back then.
But now, I wish I could've let you know
it was never you-
the reason that I ran
It was insecurity and low self worth
that sent me running far from what I wanted all along.

I gave love a chance again,
because I didn't wanna **** up
the way I so royally did with you.
I know you never loved me
not like you thought you did at least
and you never fell for me exactly
just the mere idea of who you thought I was.
But I am damaged-
and I would have destroyed you
every single thing you gave,
because that's what I did then.

But because of you
I found great love
and opened up in ways
I never thought I would.
I learned to love myself
after I lost you.
My days are spent loving someone
in a way I never thought was even possible.
I never want this feeling to end,
and god I hope you get what you deserve.
You deserve so much.
Find it, and never let it go-
I know **** well I won't make that mistake again
I will love until I can no longer take it anymore-
It's an addiction, and ironically a cure.

I have no vices,
no advice for anyone who doesn't either.
I don't smoke cigarettes or even drink coffee.
I'm not much of a drinker anymore
and marijuana gives me anxiety.
So on days when the world is crushing me
one foot into my throat at a time
I wonder what my vice could be.
Pills have found themselves into the throats of many,
and when they found the empathy in my esophagus
They won.
And then the blade found it's way to my wrist
and I wondered how I got like this.
So ever since then, no vices for me.
No way out, no mask or hiding behind lies
or behind the counter counterfeits
Just my own demons staring right back at me
like gazing at my reflection in broken mirrors.
I have understood the beauty of a sunset
and known what it's like to cling to the darkness shortly after.
I have felt the sinister euphoria behind broken drywall
and broken noses.
But all of it led me to the same place I was before.
Clinging onto drunken nights and drunken lips,
with every cigarette lit I reminded myself-
this wasn't who I am and I liked it that way.

Now those drunken nights turn to dark ones
and those drunken lips have turned to friendships
so ever since then I remind myself that nothing is permanent
and as I realize the only thing that could save me in the end,
was knowing that I've done ****** things and
the world that surrounds me has been ****** since I entered it
but I am no cowered.
I will love more than I have been loved
which isn't a hard thing to do
because people, printers and partying came first-
I have always been a secretary to secondary.
But I will fear no man, or take no one's ****
I will live this life how I envisioned it,
and love more than I have witnessed.

Every inch of my being is tired,
exhausted really, or some other form of the word
that I can't quite think of because my mind is on auto-pilot.
and I can't exactly put into words how I feel right now
without sounding ******* crazy but basically-
I'm tired of wanting to see my hand go completely through a wall
and not exactly know why I want to let loose on everything around me.
I'm tired of one day wanting to ******* from the face of the earth
and the next loving every single tree and blade of grass there is.
The irritation isn't worth the euphoria
but the euphoria makes everything else seem worthy.

I have traced my hand on paper and turned it into something,
like a thanksgiving turkey or a cool art project
just so I am reminded that these hands can hold more things
and touch more people than I could ever imagine
all I have to do is utilize these words and harness them
into something, something other than rage and fury.
I'm so ******* tired of feeling like I am running a race
while wearing weights around my ankles
and a lock around my mind so I can't think of anything else
except the circumstance I am in right now.

Why is negativity so easy?
When everything else is so ******* hard
and I'd like to think it's because nothing good comes from negativity.
All good things come from positivity right?
Well what about to nights I want to be alone
but the whole world is on my back pushing me to maintain
and everyone is hovering around me with expectations and worries
But all I have to do is reply with a simple,
I don't feel well and it all vanishes.
But this isn't the life I want to live,
constantly feeling nothing but pain,
physical and psychical what the **** is the difference?
Because physically you're in pain it makes you psychically in pain
Vice Versa. Vice Versa. Vice Versa.  
This is why every vice we have like cigarettes and ***** are bad
because nothing good comes from the bad things.
So why are there any bad things at all?

I  would like at least once
to write and really think about what I write,
and get somewhere magical.
Write the best ******* **** i've ever laid eyes on-
But then I start and I get so enthralled in my stream of conscious
I am not longer in control of what my hands type,
it's like a teleprompter in my head leading the way.
I wish it all made sense.
I wish I believed in god and heaven-
that it would make all of this easier but it doesn't.
if god exists why do I see ghosts of lives past
creeping behind closed doors in the light of day?
Why in the **** is there so much corruption in the church?
You would think he would try to stop us,
but maybe this is the plan.

Maybe depersonalization is actually just being one with the universe.
and maybe manic depression is just reminding us
how we can harness the intensity of our emotions-
because I've felt that dry wall cling to the knuckles
on my fragile hands and ever since then I've never felt so alive,
but I look at the damage and start to worry what my father will think.
How will I mend what I spent so little time breaking?

I have no words for my current state of mind and it's ****** up.
Usually I can conjure into words
the way this situation makes my ******* stomach curl
and the mere idea of it sends me spiraling back
into the dark pit of angst and disgust that is my childhood
But this time, oh this time, the words I write will become
a cemetery for every ****** up thing you've ever done
I just wrote the words I'm sorry, but I don't mean them anymore.
Not to you, not ever to you again.
I'm tired of being the backlash of what's supposedly family
I'm exhausted on the idea of being caretaker
for someone who should be taking care of me
and the circumstances I am left with makes it hard to leave.
Because if it were up to me, I would've been gone so long ago.

Just like the day I ran away from home
because daddy was in our hot tub with someone who wasn't mommy,
the day I ran away because I wanted someone, anyone to notice me
to show me some kind of attention that wasn't unwanted.
I spent days of my youth sulking my own fake tragedy
only to find that no matter what, no one will pay attention to me
because these days are busy and daddy's too overbearing
and if anything get's ****** up it's war at the house again.

I will not be a refugee for other people's problems
I do not have the time or the sanity anymore to partake
in the fuckery that is adultery and selfishness.
I do not mourn for you anymore because I am no longer a child
and I no longer pretend just to get some sort of attention
so maybe you should stop as well..

You are a leech, you **** out any good left inside of all of us
and in my life and I am done putting up with it.
I will not stand idly by and watch everything I've made of myself
Crumble and go to ashes just because your burning down
everything you've made for yourself.

The day you took your palms and placed them where you shouldn't
was the same day you lost me for good.
These material possessions are just a filler for your guilt
and I will not be fooled by this deceit with your pocket full of the same.

This love doesn't come in currency,
and I don't take credit, so mourn in your tragedy
and face the debt you have placed on yourself.
I have no sympathy for a rich's man scorn.
I have no sympathy at all anymore.

I ******* hate myself
and I mean that in the nicest way.
I am the only one who loves myself
with a fiery burning rage.
But who also has the desire
to slit open the scars
I have left for myself.

It's like I'm my own back stabbing
***** of a best friend-
when all the world is sinking in
on these tainted shoulders
I'm the one who picks myself back up
because who else would?

I am as bipolar as the weather is
where I live and if you lived here
you'd think that was funny
but I find it kind of sad
that when the weather turns gray
and the sun is too shy to show it's beauty
that's the time I fall to my knees
and shout "no one loves me"
because maybe the sun is my security.
Or maybe my depression is seasonal,
either way I am one with mother nature
because she may be unpredictable
but you admire that about her
no matter how much **** we put her through
and ******* we feed her,
she's still there to make us cautious
that we will be struck by her lightening.

One day when my palms are sweaty
and my knees are weak
and theres nothing I can do to let go
of the bottle that is clenched to my chest
I will remember that I love myself best
and if I succumb to my own abuse
that makes me weak and frail
and kind of fickle if you think about it.

My mind is an escape and a prison,
kinda like going on vacation
where there's a construction site
right next door to your hotel
but you don't mind because
the beach is in walking distance.

I guess it's kind of hard to explain
where I come from and where my head
is currently at but I guess all I can say is-
There is gold at the end of the rainbow
but everyone's *** looks a little different.

I try so hard to make everything I do enough,
but it never is.
& I don't think it actually ever was to begin with.
And these words I speak mean nothing to you-
your absence says it all.
I'm sorry you don't care the way you used to.
I'm sorry this life has hollowed you out
and turned every inch of your being into a black hole.
You're not who you once were
and it breaks my heart everyday.
Phone calls go unreturned
and text messages go unanswered.
This life is a disease and depression is like cancer.
I just wish I could have you back again.
But you're gone, I guess for good.
So it seems to my efforts are worth nothing anymore.
I hate to see the tides of failed attempts at empathy
turn you into someone who doesn't even know
what color my hair is anymore,
or why my boyfriend and I fight sometimes.
You just don't care.
& you stopped a long time ago.
I just wish it didn't have to be this way,
but I'm tired of trying for a cause
I will never change.
The piece of mind I have donated has gone bankrupt
and I have nothing left to give but my suggestions
Even then, you overlook my efforts
as if they were ants upon your walkway.
I am insignificant and unworthy.
and I have learned, things don't change.

There is no hope for this sanity I spend my days divulging in.
I dive and dig and burrow my way through these sands of time
trying to find a mind my body would work well with
but these days, these days are numbered
and my life is a leap year.
It's February again and I am cold on the inside,
but it's actually July and it's hot outside
but my mind can't tell the difference.
My body is indulging in the solitude of snow and darkness and winter.
Whether or not my body knows that the days mesh together
and the weather doesn't exactly make you feel invincible
well the verdict is still out.
The cold makes me feel invisible and the heat makes me melt
my mind is on thin ice and mother nature knows more about me
than my own mother.
I am in love with the idea of belonging to no one
and never owning a calendar because these years
they all blend together in the end
and you end up trapped under 50 feet of snow
and debt and diapers and divorce papers.
Nothing is set in stone
and these hands on the clock you spend your days watching
are just fixed elements in your subconscious
making it feel like you have your life together
when in reality, you don't and never will.
This life is calendar year and our days are numbered
365 days until you realize you spent another year
watching a clock that ticks for you and a billion other people.
But when will you stop and realize, the stars are watching
and they never skip a beat.
And somehow this earth still turns slowly
even when yours feels like it's weighing down on your chest
and you can't breathe because it's too cold
and you can't run because you can't feel your feet
so you're stuck there wishing
that you remembered what summer felt like,
it's just another calendar year
and your car door is frozen shut again,
and you're already late for work.
and it's just another calendar year.

I'm in love with the idea of belonging to no one
but I'm in love with belonging to nothing instead.
It's just another calendar year
and I'm not going to waste it wishing for a sunshine
that won't be coming anytime soon.
The weather is bi-polar, as am I.
So I appreciate the change-
because I can finally relate to something
when everyone else is stuck wishing for the sun.

I look up at the stars and realize-
we're all in different timezones
but we all share the same sky.

The hands of time seem to be speeding up my downfall
and I can't outrun the clock anymore.
These words I speak to you are frivolous and vacuous in your mind
and it seems to be thinking of ways
that you can break me down.
I will not be my father,
brought down by the circumstance in which I stand.
I will not be my mother,
letting anyone at all get under my skin and plant themselves in it.
I will not let your words grasp around my neck
and choke away any words I wish to say to you.
I have a voice, and it will be heard.

I will not be backlash for your insecurities
I will not feel bad for being me
I've spent my whole life wondering who I am
and I've found the person I have become.
I will not succumb to your paranoia and change me.
Inconsistency for me is an everyday thing
and frankly I'm tired of guessing-
waiting around each corner for a surprise attack.

This is not who I have been,
this is not who I want to be.
I should not have to sacrifice myself
just so you can be your idea of happy.

I am suffocating.
The elephant in the room is breathing all the oxygen
and my lungs have become too weak to function anymore.
The tiles of my veins are cracked upon the impact
of your expectations falling on my shoulders.
I am no soldier.

I've been drafted into a war I didn't sign up for..
I guess this is another civil war,
and I wish, oh god I wish I could be civil
in a house with no chivalry.
It's only consequential severity
of your actions and reactions
even when you take no action at all.

I am not your verbatim bully.
You will not be the hands that turn my time.
Not anymore, not this time.
I'm done choking on the tongue
I spend my days biting.

Your words are like razor blades
calling for my wrists again.
No, not again.
No, never again.

The war will end.
I will unleash every amount of ammunition I have
onto your doorstep.
Death and me have the same address.
My wrath will end you-
and subsequently me too.

I tried to find myself inside you. I crept my way into your bones and implanted myself into your memory, but it was never enough to keep the thought of you not being with me, off my mind. I tried to find myself inside you, but wound up looking into the mirror at a person I had never seen. You changed me, and I'm still trying to decide if that's a good thing. See these novels, to me, become defining characteristics of who I want to be and your eyes become an outline of what I have become. A broad reflection of all the reasons I should love myself more because you happen to. Well, I love you and if I ever had an idea of what was it, it is, well- you. You're it. Like, in a game of tag when you were seven and you felt invincible, passing the torch to another and running like your feet were on fire. I am engulfed in you. You are the flames beneath my feet, you are the fire in my eyes and you are the acid reflex in my stomach.. You are the anxiety ridden nights and the sore cheeks from smiling weeks. You are the months of complete euphoria followed by days masked with madness. My seconds with you, turn to hours and the acid from your kiss corrupts my lungs and leave me breathless, aching for nothing but your touch. The insides of my eyelids see nothing but your outline and though these words are just a mere outline of how I feel- I could never actually formulate into words the way yours linger on my skin, waiting until you *** again and again and again. It's ineffable. Unfathomable. I don't want to wake up in a world without you in it. But I have before, and I'm not sure if I can go back to living in a world- without your flames to keep me warm...

Feeling things were never easy for me-
The ticking hands of the clock without you next to me
nudged my body into something I couldn't exactly stop.
My bones shake in your embrace and sometimes not in a good way.
My presence is something that has faded into your mind,
and my heart just a page on your drawing board,
always there to give you warmth,
whenever everything else seems bleak.
This is why I am no longer your fire pit.
I should not have to blaze for you to feel my heat.
I'm tired of getting burned by my own flames
because you fail to keep it consistent.

You shook me, figuratively of course.
But your words shattered what I once saw of you,
you had been the oxygen that kept me ablaze
until you completely blew me out.
Your words turned into a windstorm and I haven't been the same since.
I'm still trying to build the walls around myself
that once kept me alive and burning,
not letting anything close enough to touch me.
But time after time you remind me that wreckage can always be rebuilt-
but there's no promises all the progress you made rebuilding
won't come crashing down again and again and again
demanding refuge, demanding attention.
you are the wreckage in my bones,
and I can't seem to fix myself anymore.

Please don't break.
Not again.
Hold it together,
you've done so well
don't let the presence of death
upon your doorstep bring you down.
The blade is faded and no longer a vice
even though it calling your name
lures you in again and again and again,
it is not your friend.

Don't do it, don't cry.
You are more than the circumstance
that surrounds you.
You are stone,
you are strong and unbreakable.
The tides of the times you've tried
are heavier than the crosses you bare
so even when that weight is upon
your frail shoulders, don't break.
Pick yourself up and get some exercise.

The scars are finally healed,
and no one can see them
no more nagging questions,
no more paranoia.
The flesh isn't just skin anymore,
it's apart of who you are,
who you've become
so don't let who you are
in this moment of turmoil
break all your progress.
You are more than this.

Tainted,
life has been that way
since you were young
and although you know
what exactly it feels like
to never catch a break
because you're held down by instances
that can't be controlled,
The chaos is mandatory
but suffering through it is not.

So tie your worries to all of your dreams
and watch the dreams carry your worries away.
Today is not a bad day.
Take off your shoes and dance in the rain.
Today is a good day.

I told you I'm sorry,
for breaking too often and not building enough,
but you told me some things are meant to be broken-
things other than my smile.
So I smiled and you told me it was like poetry,
soft, troubled but always within reason.

I watch as the days decay you,
as every inch closer  
makes you that much farther away.
It wasn't too easy with you
and it isn't so easy now with someone else.

The tips of your fingers were halfway out the door,
the bottom of your heels were close to the clouds
I knew you were never coming back to us.

This life is just a mis-categorized movie in a netflix cue.
Not exactly what you expected, but has some potential.

The beds where we lay our heads at night
could so soon turn into our coffins
and I often imagine a world where
stars are our only home
and death is just an alternate route back.

We cling to these feelings.
And if John Green can turn it into
something seemingly beautiful
why can't I?
Maybe because this is real life,
and this life comes with no storyline that's written
it takes more days than I have hands
and more thought than I have love in my heart
so I wonder why we find beauty in tragedy
and entertainment in things we don't suffer through.

We all feed off of the story lines and the drama,
the death and the heartbreak
because it makes it all seem interesting and worth it
when in reality,
no matter how much we say we want to be happy-
we're all just looking for a chance to feel something.

I've spent all my years feeling sorry for myself
for these emotions, for the things that I have little to no control over. Honestly, i'm ******* over it.

I could build you mountains and amusement parks
out of these words I conjure up
but you would tell me you're not amused
and I shouldn't haven't wasted all my energy on you.
But love is no obligation? Or is it to you?

I would paint you sunsets and write you novels
and you would tell me I'm just wasting paper.
I told myself no one would control my feelings,
no one would make me feel like **** for them.
But here we are again
which is why these fingers press these keys
building an ocean for you with my words,
but you don't feel like getting your feet wet.

I would throw a lasso over the moon,
rap all my feelings for you up in it
and then bring it down to you with
all the reason I love you etched into the sand
and you'd reply, my efforts are just way too much.

I am willing to do almost anything within reason for you
but your eyes are so blinded by the circumstance that surrounds you
that you have trouble believing anything I say to you.

It seems as if I am too much, and not enough all in the same breath.
and I'm done trying to make you realize these metaphors are not just
metaphors and over exaggerations, they are how I feel.
So if this is too much, or somehow not enough
can't say I didn't ******* try.