as the tide comes in and washes out,
my love follows suit, on this roundabout
as the moon awakes, and waxes and wanes,
my love soon tailgates, cuts into your lane
as the sun ascends, and rises and sets
my love imitates, amber signs for regret

as the tide continues to come and go,
my love follows every high and low
my love is tired, my love is slow
my love is putting me on death row

but for as long as the dawns still crack
my love for you never dares to lack

my love knows your love, after all,
and my love is in the backseat
in case your car stalls.

melodies lie bare
for I am far too ashamed
to give them a name.

who knew love could expire?
i certainly didn't.

but when you leave anything out there
in the open, in the cold,
left to exist on it's own -
it will surely die.

again, i am in a lull.
sleepless nights
but by my own hand,
i torture myself when there
is nothing to torture me

when you grow so parallel,
so close to pain,
it never sickens you how
you enjoy it.

i can barely put this feeling
into words.

it is awkward, it is uncannily
difficult to deal with, and i am desperate
to let it out but there is nothing
i can do.

there is a war in my mind,
and both sides
are losing.

it is not silent, it is
a low buzz, a muted
whisper, not really there
but still so real.

it makes its way into every
thought, every action, an invader
and intruder, an insatiable,
feral desire that you never
really know

i am trying to go both
ways at once, leave and enter,
exist yet be nothing at all

right and wrong are
never too far apart, and
i am getting tired of choosing.

like a child who has grown
too old for colouring, i am
a half empty box of crayons
lost in the suffocating folds
of the sofa

i am a carton of stuffed toys
who've had their life
hugged out of them, i am
the dog ears on a yellow
paperback

and i am the friend you forgot
about when the popular kids
came your way and made me
watch you leave

i am a passing storm, i am
a circumstance that people
get all too familiar with
and eventually forget
is there

and i am not ashamed
to be these things. i am
a collection of long lost
memories, all of which
simply just happen to end the same way.

i am not beyond repair
but the knife edges are dull
and the needles hurt more than
they used to

not abused, just used.

it lingers on my tongue
like sour candy

the desire to collapse into
arms that aren't mine
is far too invasive for my
liking.

it lingers on my tongue
like lies.

i am forever unsure of the
truth, of myself, and my
resignation is propping itself
up against the wall in the corner
of my room. i am tired.

it lingers on my tongue
like false hope.

disappointment is my best friend;
and i am eternally wed to her.