Her heart was full of bookmarks
From those who had once loved her pages,
But not enough to finish what they had started.

This time last year I was writing letters
Apologising for the way I feel
And the way I have always felt
Trying to shift blame onto my own selfish consciousness
And the methods to drown it out
Methods that left more than just physical scars
This year I am no longer writing letters
But every breath is like swallowing glass
My heart beats languid and slow
Every cell of me is fatigued
I sleep all the time and I never feel awake
Fully consumed in the guilt of who I am
And how it must hurt people to love me
So no, I am no longer writing letters
But I am still revising the words.

.

How many long days,
how many lonely days,
how many silent days
will it take
till I stop checking the clock,

**** it!

i am
the sky,
and you,
a sunset.
i know
you are
fleeting,
but i'm
begging you
to stay. nobody
knows how to
appreciate me
without you.