Giving you up,
You belong to the world -

not with me.

the world keeps turning;
with each turn,
I
in turn
turn away from you
and your awfulness
your ways
your rejection of me.

you enjoyed stumbling
recklessly falling and breaking;
whatever remained of my love
- my awful, broken love.

with each sunset -
I see you - setting with it
being the darkness that is my discomfort
the pain that lingers on
eating bits of me.

you are clumsy -
a person of the world
- I
well, I
- a person of the boundaries
of the tortured soul
that clings on the sanity
that is, love

the world has you -
I have nothing - nothing
that is you.

- nothing of you;
******.
The world has you - not I.

They say that poems
are made to touch
the places your
hands can't reach
and well i guess that
makes your smile a
poem

I can feel
her absence,
like swallowing
a cold
knife. 

The blade 
slices slowly,
deeper
with each
heartbeat.  
Tasting 
sorrow
like copper. 

A cold
steel shard
that rests
against
my heart. 

But will it cut?
Can you still bleed?
Do you love?

Your mind is a map
that I want to spend
the rest of my life discovering.
I want to work my way
through every page
that you have ever created.
Know every street, road and alley
until I can navigate across your thoughts
like the inside of my home.