No matter how many times I could write about you leaving, no amount of words could ever prepare me for it. I never knew what I would do when that day came, I put myself into so many scenarios. I suppose at least I no longer need to test myself.

The answer all along was nothing at all.
There was not a **** thing I could do.

What does it matter that I'm good . I'll never be alright with who I am, what I want is only a dream. And the ones that I love are as real as life will ever be.

You have to accept the consequences. Your feelings are hurting her, you want to reject them, but you're impulsive and stupid.
Patience is a virtue, but you just aren't virtuous.
Are you, baby blue?

That indescribable feeling.

I've been inhuman for so long. And suddenly I fall in love again. Not with a person, but with a feeling. Now I am stuck somewhere else in my head, for once in what seems like forever.
And now it has gone again, I'm on the floor writing of something that has fluttered away. Like a secret that can never be a secret again.

Was I really speaking with her, or was this all in my head. Because it seemed like a fever dream, that wouldn't end. Like I was awake and asleep at the same time, stuck inbetween. But I'd only wished it was just a dream.

The scientists say it could all be a hallucination, but how real a hallucination can be.
*Real enough to hurt you.

They said that life is what you make it to my sarcastic statement, but tell me, when in the hell did I make it this way?

Now all is misery in the beauty of others, I admire their eyes and think of her. I admire the way they can make me laugh and think of her. I admire their passion and think of her.
I try my best not to hurt them and *I think of her.

I don't have nearly enough bravery to look her straight in the eye, I've only ever had enough bravery to laugh at the memories that lie around each nook and cranny.
But the dark only grows darker in every twisted little rabbit hole, it's a quiet colorless feeling that makes everything so entirely pointless. The kind of feeling that makes you fear that there is nothing beyond death.

As many times as she said she loved him more, he would only laugh. This wasn't just an ordinary laugh, this wasn't out of amusement but out of some form of love. A lovely laugh we could call it, for a lovely being. And until they grew older, they continued to laugh as if the end of the world was coming. They had no control over time and knew they would someday leave this place. Such a dark dark fate lit up only by their smiles.

Another night he slept alone in his room. Wondering what his dreams would bring, and what his nightmares would prove.

  How his dreams brought him nightmares, and his nightmares proved he had dreams.

Even if it was dark, things felt a little bit brighter.
When I laughed, I always felt like I couldn't stop.
When I smiled, she'd smile back.

Now it seems so quiet, but yet so loud.
I'm screaming inside, and I'm kicking and I'm punching.
I'm screaming so loud that I've lost my voice, I can't speak and I can't hear.  I'm just another tree, and I feel like I'm going to fall. Will anyone hear me?

The only mistake to be made was before death, thinking to myself as life was leaving these old lungs. While another was begging for one last word, some way to keep them going.
I would do anything to speak to them even if only one last time, I would haunt anyone and everyone if it meant I could get even one letter across.
Even if my only form of engrossment was through scarlet rivers, sacrificing the brightest of souls, or overcoming the darkest and most treacherous of hollows. To reach her. Absolutely anything.

Had a dream about a one-legged spider last night.
Was it me? Wallowing in my own pity. I feel like a fool, helpless.
My only protection is the night, and I've apparently gotten caught in my own web. If you wanted me in my most vulnerable state, here I stand.

A sleepy boy always awake, always had his eyes open so wide. Only another few minutes he kept telling himself,  in a few moments he would sleep.  In a few moments he may finally rest.
An optimistic boy, still awake and calling out each and every detail. Only another few hours he kept telling himself, I'll make it till then. A few more hours and I'll drift off.
An ambitious man now, awake only from the ******* that coursed through his body. Only another few months he kept telling himself, a few more months and he could finally take a seat and maybe greet some of his dreams.
An unfulfilled man, awake and completely overwhelmed by life and it's instantaneous moments. He no longer tells himself a thing. In a few years he knows he'll be gone.

Even in death, there lies beauty.
Though it brings absolute hopelessness, we thrive off of it. Would we even be living was it not for the fact that we could die at any moment.
  You see, we are animals, and as animals we instinctively seek to survive. We didn't learn this at birth, yet somehow we still knew.
  But are our instincts all for naught?
No matter the effectiveness of the path taken, the outcome will always remain the same.
  So the question to be asked is not whether or not to be, but what can be done for the ones left behind once we stop being.

Are the sun and moon forever to be pushed away from one another by the space inbetween?
Or will the stars sparkle like applauds at the sight of the embrace?

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.

I called you out on your *******, and you called me out on mine. And now I think I know what Bukowski once knew.

It's all *******.

But I only want to live, and I only want you to live. I only want to live in you and all of your *******.

I plunged into what I thought was someplace beautiful, but I can no longer pretend. I only want to set this world on fire.

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.

She said you can hate me as much as it would hurt. She sobbed as she cried those words. For the love of my life to ever even consider that I could hate her, it broke my heart.
How could I ever possibly hate her, she created me.

I keep finding myselves in places where I should play that role, the one who carries the stick, but I just don't feel strong enough for it.

The day he met her was the day he wanted to be carried.  It felt as though he had died then was resuscitated back to life by a bolt of lightning.
She was beautiful in every sense of the word. A goddess in the reflections of his eyes.
Hair that was hot to the touch, eyes that could pierce darkness with ease, and a smile that could speak any tongue.
And he knew, the day that she goes will be the day that he goes as well.

A slight slip of the fingers, like an ocean, as the sky is filled with wind in every which direction. I let you go, like a cast of a sail.

The nature of change is chaos, anxiety, stress, but life is change.
Love is change.
I ask for change, I want us to both be strong for the all of the change to come.

Her fingerprints were a maze I was hopelessly lost in.
Her eyes were the sky I could only ever look up at in awe, never to break through the clouds.
Her lips were the mountains I would die on, to forever be a warning of what lay ahead.
Her heart was a fire I would gaze at in the night, never to grasp in my palms.

She was chaos.

Destruction to something as pure as love will surely lead to a gruesome demise.
Whether it be the demise of your inner self or outer self is your choice.
Although, you could always go with no choice.

Truth behold, truth behold. Two lover's souls were left afloat.
Truth be told, truth be told. The creek had never been as cold. Time froze, a portrait of pause.
And as the lovers dried themselves, they wondered when a moment would ever leave as beautifully again.

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.

Crocodile tears, as they would say. Burn down my face, and burn down my life.
Want is a ***** desire, manipulation it's partner.
Leaving salted ground as a reminder of what's no longer there.
Unforgiving, and unknowing of what is right or what is fair.
My love, my life, myself. All lost in the gamble.

I feel the presence of you through the pain in my teeth, as I sing along to the song I used to skip just for you. It always makes me think of you even though you never wanted to listen to it. The sadness you felt when it would come on must have been left behind with me little by little each time I let it go by without you knowing. You left some sort of residue on your footprint, a brand. And someday when god looks upon my soul, he'll see it still, branded by the giant, for the silver and gold I once stole.

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.

I see her face and try not to remember a thing on this devil's night. It feels as though I know her name and she's torturing me every last moment of silence.
God, know that I **** it all to  hell, it doesn't even feel real anymore. This fallen angel that continues to rain down on my dreams should no longer mean a thing to me.

As I visualized people in my mind, and wondered,"Who are you?"
I felt a real person within my existence. I felt like a real person even if only for a moment, I felt like one of the others, one of the ones I imagine.
Yet, it's fleeting, it only comes when I feel the deepest sadness, when the rawness of this perception throws me into the ground, gets dirt in my eye.

She is in so much pain, and I can't do a **** thing because I am not real.

I met an amazing girl, and yet again I'm terrified. The apathy looms, and scratches at my head, while I wonder if she will leave me. I can feel the disassociation laying next to me in my bed, telling me to go back to sleep.

I don't want to hold her back. I don't want to be her shadow.
I want be her inspiration, her light. Please, let it be.

Rigid, ugly, painful intervals of burning in the pores of my skin.
A rough sensation in my heart, I missed her more than I cared for my own life.
  At what point in time did my ancestors devolve me, when did my DNA first form this biological gap?

My instincts were supposed to protect me.

What am I to do to fill this gap inbetween us. Maybe I'll fill it with the trash I have laying around my room, or in my soul. Maybe I'll fill it with a million hours of occupation, money, and material objects. Maybe another could fill it with their baggage and sadness, their big eyes with questions of doubt and love.
But no, don't you dare trust a thing I say, because I have not a clue what could possibly fill a hole the size of the universe.

I am no more than the ground beneath you, I hold the life of everybody so dearly in my roots. You are fire, and you burn me of those roots with every step you take. I am no longer a safe place for them to grow. I am only salted ground beneath your marching feet.

A road without road signs and faded paint, with ways that lead to every wrong direction. And we drove on that deep black ice throughout the night.
A dance that was no fun, and left a feeling of dissatisfaction, filled of bitter patterns. And god, it left us dying for water.
A recorder, with eyes that were too close together, and a mouth that would only open for a kiss.
The tape I played choked you up, and you died alongside me.
I had become what I never wanted to be.

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 see and I love, but I close my eyes and I picture you.
It's folded, lost color, and burnt beyond recognition.
Each night I leave it on your doorstep.
And each day, I love.

But I always close my eyes again.

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.

A falling star dropped across the face of the beautiful night sky , and a question arose. Would this star's light disappear, or live on for the ages?
Though, the answers had not laid in the eyes of this beholder, but only in the suns surrounded.