i don't write
to please anyone
i don't write
for attention
i don't write
for compliments
i don't write
to make anyone fall in love with me

i write
because i feel
i write
because i need to
i write
because my mind is too loud
i write
because my mouth is too quiet

Sweetest sensation of blindness
Washes over my sight
As I gaze upon your soulless vessel.

Victorious, the transparency that
Allows for my spectacles to see
Beyond.

I look at you sitting here,
Only arm lengths in front of me,
Yet I cannot SEE you.

As if you no longer exist.

The preacher said
he was better
than the taxi-driver
because he showed
people, with all his words,
the way to Heaven

The taxi-driver said:
*"You might show them
the way to Heaven
but I show them the way
to God -
for everytime I start to drive
passengers start to pray
and they pray all the way
And I don't even have to say a word"

i fell in love with
the idea of you.

your dark, messy
unkempt hair.
your black eyes that
curve into
crescent moons
and are guarded behind glass.
your endearing laugh,
your unusual talents
and fearlessness.

but perhaps if i
peeled back the
layers of secrecy and humour,
your front,
i'd find a
vulnerable you,
a lost and afraid little child.
maybe that's why
i'll only fall for
the idea of you, and not you.

maybe i'm only in love with the
train rides and
inside jokes and
candid moments unseen by you but
ingrained forever in my mind.
those little quirks that are so you yet,
not.

and if you ever knew this,
you'd combust into a million pieces.
you'd fall into the deep abyss of
uncertainty, curiosity
and the world around you
would get even more crazy.

but i can't seem to let you go,
you're a burning field i'd want to lie in still.
right now,
you're the adrenaline in my body.
it's like you're pulling me into the depths
yet pulling me out
and i don't know who is stronger.

They ask me,
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I look around and say,
"Anything but these who call themselves adults."

She held my hand
And dried my tears.
Comforted me
And eased my fears.
Yet now she struggles
To remember my name.
God is playing
A cruel game.
She's not here,
But she's not dead.
The future fills
My heart with dread.
She lives in her memories,
Trapped in the past.
The illness has taken over
So fast.
But I smile with her
And lend my ear
Because one day she
Will no longer be here.