I think god is playing a cruel joke on me
He put you back in my dreams
And made me realize how much I miss your voice
What a sick ****

I've been sick for almost a week .
Everything around me seem so inverted .

This bed and my body started to stink of rotten flesh .
And thoughts disappointments made me more miserable .

YES ! I am disappointed
And this disappointment is like a illness
This time it sits inside me .
I didn't get it by my expectations .
I had buried them long ago .

Why did you tainted that beautiful
Fragrance we had .
You've failed in every area to keep my emotions treasured .

At the end ,it is what it is .
And I am getting my pockets full of disappointments without even expecting .

Just because we smile together ,  doesn't mean I am happy .
Everytime i try to get closer ,
Feel that feeling of pisthurism ...
Do you know what I smell ?
Burning faith .

I'm tired.
I'm tired of running towards
the same closed door every time.
You closed it
and I am unable to open it.
I tried
and it hurt.

I'm disheartened.
I'm disheartened from crashing against
the same huge wall every time.
You built it
and I am unable to climb it.
I tried
and it stung.

I'm sick.
I'm sick of racing after
the same fast car every time.
You drive it
and I am unable to catch up.
I tried
and it pained.

I'm sick and tired of trying,
of hurting
of the sting
of pain.
I'm sick and tired,
but I won't give up.

'Cause maybe one day
someone will open their door for me,
someone will help me climb their wall,
someone will stop and wait for me.
I won't give up.
Someone will.
Someday.

I'm forgetting.

Forgetting on sight.

Forgetting every night.

Something that was supposed to be important...

Is it really that important?



I'm worried that I'm sick,

Mentally, physically; what's my tick?



I'm afraid of ticks.



Forgetting the dark and finding the light.

But it's getting too bright.

My sight is it's own illusionist...

Pulling tricks to show me I'm losing it.



Threatening my anxiety and removing comfort.

Thoughts running up to the clouds and they don't come back down.



But when they do, it's all at once...



In fact, it's not good and pretty;

It's quite harsh and ugly.

It is decidedly so, it no longer bugs me...

The small cut sits there
pulling at my pain
The tears fall
pulling at my heartstrings
and there is so much more to suffer
as I pull at the symptoms,
the useless situation, I am helpless, help me, but help cannot fix
what my body has come to be

My body is weary from the aching times that makes me feel like a burden.
My head feels great weight.

My throat constantly sores from screaming my lungs out just to reach out.
My voice has run dry.

My skin sense a scorching sun from within that it aches my insides.
I could see the pain.

But I know it's not the virus.

sunlight licks the kitchen floor,
but sunlight is delirious;
soft-brained, a half-wit,
deaf to the creak and slam of doors
blind to crumpled t-shirts
lacking tact, a clinging idiot
leaning on whitewashed walls
to read what's in the cat scratch

it doesn't understand
it wants to play, it dribbles
it pokes my thighs, it dimples
rolls around in the soil
shimmies in the grasses
brings back the scent of warmth
on its grimy cheeks

it's just a child,
it doesn't know I've lost you
can't smell the stomach acid
or register my shame
it tilts its head, i slap it
it was there, should remember
your soft skin, your name

i melt into my pillow
pull the shutters on my eyes
don't think about the water
or the *****
or the mauve congealing blood
forget about the battered sun
just wait for moon to rise.