“I dont know”
was my response
when you asked me if
I still love you

the world stopped
for the both of us
as I wondered on the thought
of me, being selfish
or being true
and yours upon the
realization that
maybe, just maybe
my love for you
is fleeting

neither of us was speaking
and the silence echoed
through the depths of my head
and you uttered
‘oh’

that moment, I knew
that you gave up
on me, and my inner
indecisiveness

I crumbled upon
the guilt of telling you
those words, so instead
I let my tongue do
the talking and said
'maybe'

cause it was never hard to say

but it is always hard to face

the reality of being responsible
to someone

as if I have to breathe
through somebody’s pair of lungs
and scratch the loneliness
with someone else’s fingers

we parted
I changed numbers

cause I had to stay afloat
on the clouds of solitude
free from attachments.

I'm losing you to his cool embrace,
and losing you is something I'll just have to face
no demons or darkness, no sadness or pain,
just knowing that all my love was in vain.

My chest rises and falls
And I'm painfully aware
that I am living.
But I ask you,
Is it called living
when the air you breathe
the very substance that keeps you alive
twists and twirls and takes
your breath away.
Ironic isn't it?
Is it really living
when the food you eat
the very substance that keeps you alive
is your greatest enemy in times of anger,
but fiercest ally in times of sadness?
Truly, ironic.
And is it really living
when the happiness you make,
the only thing actually keeping you here, alive.
Is it really living if it's all a lie?