I'll be an empty canvas
as long as you're the paint
adding color to my madness.

I'll be the midnight sky
as long as you're the fireworks
and it's the fourth of July.

I'll be an empty stomach
as long as you're the butterflies.
I'll be the void
If you'll be the cries.
The ketchup to your fries.

Can't you see?
You fill me up so perfectly.
Like you were made for me
like you and I were meant to be.

You are...

The feet to my socks
The juice to my box
The tic tok to my broken clocks.

You are...

My reason being.

All souls
can write
poetry


but not
all souls
need to

There are moments
when habit and subconscious imprison me
in an odd-shaped place I call my past

I find myself dialing your number,
heading towards your office,
and calling your name when I come home

I find myself straightening your toothbrush,
puffing your pillow,
and telling you to turn the lights off

I find myself
looking at your empty side of the bed and thinking "oh he's up early"

I believe its called a force of habit



But my God,

Am I dreadful
of losing the force
enclosing me
in my so-called
"prison"

Dreadful
of escaping this prison

for beyond its walls,
you are no longer here

and after a bone breaks,
it heals to become stronger

so I'll call my heart a bone
and watch as you break it

I'll welcome the pain
with open arms

and as it slips through my fingers
I'll try to forget

how
much
you took
away
from me

There are thoughts that make my bones shake
smells that make my nose cry
and sights that make my eyes bleed

There are moments when my body loses its tone
when my resting face becomes a canvas of contracting muscles
and I don't realize what is happening

tears precede my thoughts
and I bleed before I have time to think
control is not an option

my vocal cords forget how to resonate
and no longer is my voice my own

my arteries pump more blood
than my heart can pump back
and I feel the blood pulsate in my limbs
as I try to calm down

I forget how it feels
to inhale surrounding air
without feeling suffocated

my thoughts become unrealistic
and you'd think they'd be more organized
but they're not
they are not

reality is the option
my brain is trying to avoid
so I think of movies
and lunch

but like microbes
reality infests the diversion
my brain had created

and a loop plays in my head
a loop of nothingness
of uncertainty and
loss of control

and so the blood rolls down my cheeks
as my bones begin to tremble
and tears fall down my nose

please, God,
let this moment end

You shook me so roughly
only to wake me from
the fantasy I taught myself to believe;
the lies I built around me,
and positivity I trained my mind to perceive.

And now that I have awaken to reality
I must say..
Boy do I miss that slumber.