Would you think it's stupid if I told you I remembered something you forgot.
I try not to say, I don't want to upset you.
I always remember things you tell me, or I try to. The things that are important to you.
Sometimes I wonder, do you think to do the same? Am I in your memory?

Do I roam your thoughts,
Or do I run through them and become nothing but an afterthought?
I don't want to be the last thing you remember or the first you forget.
I want to know how important I am to you.

Is that stupid?

I've been broken up into pieces. One says I'm being a fool and that I should wait for you.
The other says I'm a fool because I'm waiting for you.

Why am I still up?
A combination of sadness and uncontrollable coughing.

If you knew me, you might think," Why the sadness? You have your family, you have the girl. Why?"

Well I don't know, but it feels as though my body does before I do, that I'm going to lose something. It's kept me up late at night. Coughing up a lung, my blood heats up, and goes straight to my head. I feel something coming.
But is it my gut, that's always right? Or my heart that steers me wrong..?

I can't tell..

It is beautiful to help the one you love, but is even more so beautiful to know that they don't need your help.

They can be strong all their own if needed be.

My mistakes grow by the day, as does your apprehension.
Each night I wait for you, the edge becomes so clear.
Sharp glass with a sharper reflection, that cuts away at everything you thought you knew about me.
Everything I thought I knew about myself.
I know nothing of that reflection,  and neither do you, my love.

Everytime you go,
My shadow follows.

It lays it's weight,
Upon your shoulders.

And I'm always so sorry.

My heart is beating,
Louder now.
It's like it knows it's,

Alone,
with me.

Soon, I wonder if
it will stop beating.

Would it make you feel better,
If I told you the sound of crying
Sounds like laughter at times.

It could be better, right?

It brings me solace.
That you'll forget about me in time.

Maybe one of these days you'll find me
In the obituary, just another fool.
Split in two, and will you wonder?
What happened?

Reminiscing of a time in the future, when I'm someone deserving of what I have, and all the work it would take.
I keep thinking though, I could die a fiery death before that day ever comes, and what would be the point of that journey to completion.
I would never have been able to be happy with you.

To be happy with her.

To even be happy at all.

Is there a heaven where I can bask in it all, all of the beautiful things I could ever have? Is there a heaven where I deserve any of these wonderful beings?

No, there isn't.
And the point of this poem is only to reminisce on nonexistence and nothingness.

A somber soul once told me,"To dream is a sin, and to love is a mistake made since the beginning, it's life and death incarnate. You will live and die by these good dreams
And lost loves. And what will you have to show for it but a somber soul?"

Fall in and out of depression on a whim.
Fall in love and leave her alone on a whim.
Give a love away on a whim, and end up alone.
Give up a friend for absolutely nothing.

All my fears and hopes bury me in as I lie through my teeth, I'm losing myself to myself, to a future me that doesn't even exist.

A whim.

Sad to say this new year I just don't feel very important. Whether it's the girl I'm with or the girl I want to be with. Will it make a difference?
Or is this just a cycle I'm bound to repeat?

Despondence. As I ponder, the thought of love, the thought of like, and what's the point of it all.
Self loathing, while I think of her, and how she has no idea of my motives. The innocence is all consuming each time she gives me a glance, and god sees failure in me as I glance back.

Tis a nightmare, to think and then sleep, and sleep yet still think.
    Voices from the past echo in endless black at the back of my eyelids, the chasms of my mind showing me there are many things worse than death. Oh yes, by a thousand fold.
   I fall into the darkness, like lead weighs me down. I can't breathe, yet, I can still think, I die a thousand deaths, and yet, I can still think..

   But
     I
  can't
    do
     a
thing.

    The questions my dreams beg for me to answer make me ever restless, the answers heavenbound, as I

sink

sink

sink


into the abyss.

Funny how people you know, may come and go.
Whether it be from a poor choice of words, or the weight of the world.

All my old writing was as accurate as premonition, as if I wanted a tragedy to JOLT ME from my sleep.

The silver lining is I suppose I got what I wanted,
it just wasn't the tragic self harm I dreamed of.
More like a tragic mistake that destroyed the boy I once was, and the girl I once knew.

You can live an entire life with someone in your dreams, and they would never know.
The first kiss you shared, and the last words you spoke to them before the waking dream loses them, neuron to neuron, cell by cell.
Then I thought,
you could do so awake as well.

Another night, taking the dog out, headphones in, the moon's glare in my eye. Like a limelight.
A moment clear as I walk down the flight of stairs, and everything around suddenly becomes like stone, to sand. My clarity becomes fleeting..
again.
My delicate heart could cease on this midnight walk beneath this warm glow, and would anyone know?

Would even I, know?

This is a story of a girl, lonely since the day the dust was given life. How deathly afraid she was to return to that dust. How deathly afraid she was to tell her family that she felt alone, even in their arms. How could she tell them she had no friends?
Those people she wished she knew, those people who she wished would just remember her name. Those people that really shouldn't have mattered at all.
Without
realizing,
she
buried
herself
deeper,
and
deeper.

Every last breath of her soul snuffed out, crystalised personalities, smiles, laughs, humanity, blanketed by false securities given by every friend she had.
Including me.

Do you still want someone to say goodnight to you? To talk to you everyday, dream of you, give you their all, to climb in that hole of yours after you.
After you realize you aren't who they think you are and attempt to claw out of your hole? Leaving them alone.

If so, the night will come, and they will return as dust upon your shoulder.
A final goodnight, a last blanket with a whisper of your name, and an
I love you. Still.

They say that time heals all wounds, but where do I sell my time to heal my soul?

I shield my eyes from the sun peeking  
    between the arches and peaks.
Halve the leaves, green, red. Again.
    Halve them, yellow, orange. Fire in
     piles, split again and again.
not one hue of color left, only black
     and white.
Changed but the same.

What is the meaning of my life if I'm only an extension of her? My taste is not my taste, my life stopped being my life when I met her.

I don't know how I feel towards you anymore. I almost feel like I can hate you like you hate me, but something scratches at me, a million people tearing at my insides.
The naive highschooler, the little "man", the lustful *******, the vengeful ******* in me now, and the one that wishes you could just be okay.

I can't ******* figure out which one is me, was me. What I want for you, from you, or why it even matters..

I want to be sorry, I am sorry, but the vengeful ******* still screams ****** ****** in my head.
"It was all *******, she wants to believe she's any better when she used you. She wants to judge and not be judged. Blame you for everything she hates in herself."

I try to drown him out with noise, music, love.
But I can't stop the nagging that you were selfish, and even more so, you were entitled.
You've always been everything you hate in me, and now more.
A victim that always denies herself love.

I laid in bed, the blanket caressing my skin. I could hear you breathing

in,
out,
in,
out.

I lost count of your heartbeats in the verses of a song ever so quietly upon my ears.
I lost myself in it all, my senses overflowed, and time was nothing but a thought for a moment.

Then I awoke,
the moment
lost in a dream.

Pain is simply a process of learning, still, I don't want you to hurt.

We wish to have loved and lived, and we wish to have died then to not have tried at all.

I wouldn't call death a real comedian, more of a two bit clown. He rehearses the same punchline at your doorstep each day.
"life is a joke, so I'll take it away fellas."

Sometimes making amends to someone you did wrong, is moving on.

And hating someone so much, isn't letting go.
I hope you really let go,  because I'm moving on.

Looking for a reason we stopped knowing one another?
Ask me my Zodiac, use it as an excuse as to why we didn't make it.

Search my writings for that love you so dearly and desperately desired, instead of me telling you I never got the chance.

Listen to that horoscope instead of just listening to me, it'll tell you what happened.

I'm ungrateful of your presence, I leave an open spot on the outside of my heart, under my shoe, left behind in the burning asphalt that is your hell.
Burn in the sun.

I wish to see you one day, full of happiness, and not a single regret in your smile.
Being unnoticed, I would leave that memory of you behind like a flower I never picked.

Can you hate me now, and forever more?
Will you let me be, in agony. Without you?
I say no, never now, nor ever.

Tattered and bruised, feeling used.
Let the dust settle, and wonder where I am, where you last left me. Kept me in the dark long enough for me to understand that I don't need the light. The dust has sealed tight upon my skin.

Yet again, I feel the doubt filling in my pigments.
Are you different?
Forgiveness is something I've longed for, what right do I have to strip it from you.
Am I different?
How many times must I forgive you?
Am I truly deserving of that forgiveness as you are? Are we the same?

We want the warnings plain as daylight, but I'm not sure they  can be any more obvious.
We want someone to tell us what they want, and what they feel, but I don't know if they can get any louder.
I want more, to provide more, to live more.
But I no longer think that I have anything left to give or take.

You're welcome to mistakes, but don't let them become who you are.

You've become more than what your past has indicted upon you. She is not your past, your past is apart of who you were, which is not who you are any longer.

Cut it out, remove the dead tissue from the past. Leave it there on that bed you used to sleep on with her. Burn your fingertips clean of her touch, disappear from the way she remembers you. From the tabs she kept on you.
You've tried to sympathize now that you've done your time, but sympathy from a sinner doesn't mean a thing to an angel.
You've become something without a future or a past, but hated nonetheless. You've become a derelict, waiting for a storm to tear your old walls down.

Even through the midnight insomnia, drunken, drugged up death binges, I still remember your face. Don't think I'm lying, I still remember the taste of the salt in your tears. Soaking up your hopes and fears, what had I become.

Your death.
Your wake up call.
Your very last piece of failure.

Goodbye.

This feeling leaves me lost of my senses, like the sound of rain in a dream.
Loving her makes me feel like I'm lost in a world where everyone wants to be found. An infinitely expanding universe, that I will never fully explore but will never grow weary of.

And missing her is like death in a bottle, that I sip in miniscule doses prescripted by the second.

Smell of me in the back of your throat, gurgling and choking you up.
Picture blood rushing to the inside of your skull, baby. I'll give you an aneurysm faster than you can say," I'm d-."

I'll give you peace of mind.

Why can hate for someone grow when you no longer know who they are? Why can we be sad when we're also happy?
Why do we exist in a world where everything is supposedly coincidental?
Were your feelings of hate for me coincidence, when you confided in me, and I in you? Or was it always supposed to end the way that it did?

Why do I want you to forgive me, when it no longer matters?

I remember you saying,"You're a good person".

Now the words you last spoke to me ring in my ears.
I deserved it, but does that mean I don't deserve to be happy
now?
Now that we're stangers, I wonder,"Did you ever really know me enough? Did I ever know myself enough?"