Under the calm damp shade of some trees in a field that wildflowers have made into their home, you're lying on your back.
There's a change in your heart rhythm.
An unfamiliar numbness creeps in.
Your breathing becomes a little laboured.
There's a sick feeling in your stomach.
Your gaze is fixed upon your delicate fingers as they slowly tear apart the beautiful blueish purple flowers you had been holding.
Lately it seems like thats what you do with most things.
But does it really even matter?
Your old self is dying.
But thats okay.
You'll start with a blank slate and become something better.
The good things never last but neither does the pain.
Pretend the desolation has palliated and become something quiet.
Something easy to forget about.
Close your eyes and pay attention to the sound of the gentle breeze swaying the grass in the field of wolfsbane flowers you lie in.
Your old self can go without struggle.
You're aware that most people choose to settle down and rest where sweeter things such as roses grow.
The thorns hurt them and eventually their old self can die too. But they can keep some of the good parts.
They say pick your poison and you chose whatever would be most fatal. you don't want remnants of the past.
You and I are parallel lines
always close but never touching
Theres nothing between us but the distance I created
Bruised skin and laughing through the tears
Late night videogames and cold numbing rain
Unsent messages of abhorrence
I thought about calling you on your birthday,
september arrived and it didn't feel right without you
We're parallel lines but I'm thankful for it
I'm thankful you can't hurt me again
I wish I could remember
The day that we first met
But then I'm comforted realizing
I never remember my life without you being in it
Then I think to myself...
I want your presence in my life to last forever
Gently place your hands on my sides, feel each breath I take. Delicately pry apart my ribs. I won't reveal secrets on my own, but I'll answer truthfully to the questions you ask.
Tear me apart in the soft and winsome way you do most things. It doesn't hurt to explore.
You'll find things such as empty suburban roads and sidewalks in the night, kissed by raindrops illuminated by the streetlamps. And gentle sleepy kisses in the safe and quiet darkness of a bedroom at 4 am. Old love poems written on wrists and bandages placed over scraped hands and knees.
You'll find broken ****** bones and golden ichor dripping from cut lips and the remains of stars that still burn hot and glowing. You'll hear the softest saddest noises, quiet whimpers and shaky breaths caught between choked up sobs. I will cling to you as if you're the only thing that's keeping me alive (and I will push you away for the same reason).
You'll find a starry-eyed hopeless romantic, smudged makeup with glittery golden tear stains, bruises painting a body that was once an empty canvas, and the lovely sound of laughing through whatever pain may be felt.
You'll find me wanting to forget everything in existence except for how I feel in this moment and how you look at me as we cry
No place feels safe enough for you when searing incandescent flames reside in your own body.
It completely consumes you and the smoke fills your lungs and you suffocate.
Nobody will touch you, but they can tell there's something wrong. They know theres been something painful slowly burning you from the inside, and they know its safest for them to keep you at a distance.
You ache and burn and all you want is to be safe.
To be reduced to nothing but ash is all you can hope for.
I've realized escape is non-existent.
Even when I attempt to sleep it all away, the memories come back to me in my dreams.
In the dreams I always get so close to escape, and then its ripped away from me.
It always ends the same. It ends with myself curled up on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, letting out ragged breaths between choked up sobs as I bleed.
I miss the feeling of escape before it would get taken from me, I miss feeling free.
(But can I even miss it if I never truly had it and only dreamt it?)
At night I see the stars shine and I imagine the way they might burn my fingertips if I could touch them, its a strange homesick feeling.
I sit alone on my bedroom floor, mostly unclothed, letting the darkness envelop me as the cold air sends shivers down my spine.
Moments come and go so quickly, you never know how much meaning one holds until its gone and its become a hazy memory that you try to cling onto.
These are the hours I drown in longing for something I've never had, but its also when I drown in longing for something I once had in the past.
These are the hours for aching lovesick poets that romanticize their pain, trying to turn it into something beautiful.
(because beautiful things won't tear us apart, right?)