he never was alone
because his words had
conquered him
quite long ago

they tickled him
they tortured him
they controlled him
they
were
    him.

they were his skin
they were his bones
his words
became
  him.

Every passing second
every engraved thought
he must
delay
    delay
         delay
  I must not think at all
  too many words
  will become too much
and too much
would shatter him
so delay his thoughts he must

but to not think
is quite harsh a predicament
it was a parasite
his words
for they controlled
   but he controlled them

it was an existence
he fought to change
but an existence he fought to remain
because it was an existence
and that remained enough

I'm sorry
that I was never there
for you
as you were
for me

I'm sorry
that I lost you
Before I realised
I loved you

I'm sorry
that in this apology
I'm still as selfish
as always

But most of all
I'm sorry
for never being enough

Can you tell me
what its like
to fall
so very deeply
in love?

can you tell me what its like
to prioritise another breath
over your own

can you tell me why
i can't  fall in love

or am a monster
born to observe
but never have
anything
that is
love.

I'm honestly quite tired
of this game of push and pull
where I'm always the pawn
and you're always the Queen

I'm really quite exhausted
of all your extremes
of this anticipation,
as to when
or if ever-
you'll love me again

because, I haven't always been
a pawn, a toy
I haven't always been
something only yours

I had something once before
where I determined
what I was
But once upon a time
I loved you enough, to let you instead

So please, love me for me
or give me back myself
Because honestly, I'm quite tired
of such a game
as exhausting as you

Through all the times
my heart has stolen
        It only seems to keep
The moments I felt so very alive
  I could die in the moment-
                             satisfied.

But why is it,
that my mind must hoard
the darkest of them all?
too dark for my heart to see,
  But cruel enough,
to poison everything else?

-my heart knew happiness before my mind ever did-

Silly little scrawls
  on the back of notebook pages
   seem to hold, more of my heart
than I ever
                            gave out

Why is it,
that you must lie
so very often?
You've gone too far now
  you really ought to stop.

Who is it,
that you must
lie to so very often?
is it me?
myself?
I?


Your trying to make art
with your crumbling heart
as your canvas
you really ought to stop
  who is it
that your lying to?
    you really ought to stop