They tell us to listen to our hearts.
No one teaches us,
What the beats mean.
Whether the skips in between are ok.

They say follow your heart.
They don't teach us to follow its footprints.
Or read a map.
It's easy to lose yourself following faint tracks,
And end up lost and alone.

They don't tell you the heart leaps before it thinks,
No one ever dared question the silence.
It doesn't speak before it beats,
There are a million voices in the silence,
Asking you to take care.
It beats on and on even when you're dying,
It goes on.

I can write about my pain in lines,
Black mascara running down my cheeks with tears,
Needles piercing my nerves with stabs,
It hurts to think of you and what you did.
By not being there,
Not loving me.
Not needing me.

I was good to you.

You took my heart and twisted it,
Tucking it between a rock and hard place.
It was beating but bruised,
Shaking and shivering.
You cut it out while it still beat.
And wore it on your sleeve.

I can write of this pain in ink,
Bleeding my heart out on paper.
Writing you into my memories,
Writing you out of my subconscious.
And yet you're an inkstain on my paper and thumb.
You linger in the lines left behind.

You have become an illusion,
Weaving round my senses like smoke,
Curling and drifting, teasing my memories.
Was it real when you laced your fingers through mine?
Squeezed mine as if to reassure me.

I want to bleed out all the things I felt.
Trickles of darkness and hope,
That it would get better.
The days it did get better and i thought it was over.
But we remained in a rut,
Trapped, broken, hurting.

I wish I could push my hand through your chest,
Hammer your heart till you feel again.
Tie you to your favorite memories,
Until you remember what we had.
But forcing you to remember scalds,
Leaving wounds I can't heal.

So am going to write you away,
With words and verse and prose.
Write you to infinity and beyond.
Trap you between pages of a book,
seal your essence in something beyond you.
So I can purge myself of you.

There are many firsts,
a first date.
A sloppy wet first kiss.
A first boyfriend or girlfriend.
Things you wish you could store up in a snowball.
To trap them in a place where time has no power.
Still. Frozen. Kept like figurines.

Time seems stretched out like a string,
Taut and endless, spiraling into knots and tangles.
We take what we can get.
It might be the last smile on our face.
Happy ever after,
Or the end of all we know.

So many lasts sprinkled like salt on salads,
The last time you ever saw a loved one's face.
Last time you loved.
It could be the last heartache,
But you would never know.

Time is but a lifeline to present and past.
It can be snatched right out of your hands.
Gone as fast as lightning,
Too powerful to contain in any vessel.
Time can be everything and also nothing.

Is this what it means to love?
The pain that goes through my chest when I can't see you.
The tears I choke back when you hurt me,
Cause somehow it hurts more when you watch
me.
The pounding of my heart when you say my name.
The mixed feelings and confusion.
How come I can't smile without you?
And yet I cry night after night,
Cause you didn't love me the way i feel I deserve.
Somehow there is more pain with you than without.
And yet I can't see myself being here without you.
You complete me.
Jagged pieces of your imperfect character fit right where I need them to.
This must be love.

I lead my troops into battle,

Fighting our way through the enemy lines,

pushing back our fears and screams,

hoping that way we can breathe.

War isn’t something you can keep boxed away.

I feel the chaos around me,

confusion tugging me here and there.

I am worn and spent,

from the ravages of war.



I can feel the tears run down my cheeks.

You see, I am scared.

That I will open my eyes and nothing will be there.

Scared of losing everything I love.

The things I hold dear,

won’t always be near.;

I cower and hide from my demons,

Hoping they will play nice.

I stand tall and bring my weapons,

hoping to ward off the enemy.

It’s harder when I realise its within.

I am waging this war with myself.

Who I was, who I want to be,

It’s all blurred up in there.

Being me is a war with myself,

I keep thinking the other shoe will drop,

Before am completely lost.

You ask me why all I do is love,
yet all it does is hurt.
You don't see that its a facet,
of pain, smiles and tears.
Love isn't something you need to
breathe.
But breathing hurts when you don't feel.
It is embedded in your DNA,
Somehow we love or are loved.