**** myself, get money. ****** out of my mind. Following a passionless dim ******* color. Unfulfilled to the point of ******* myself

Without purpose, what is another minute or hour. Any incognitive being would reply with a shrug, or maybe an,”I don’t know”, but what would you reply with? Perhaps you would say that no being without purpose can not find one, or maybe you wouldn’t. Although, who am I to say. What is another minute or hour attempting to figure it out?

Suddenly I could taste her breath in the air, almost as if I had just kissed her.
But I hadn't, I was alone in my bed.

I'm haunted, by some sort of phantom pain.

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

Rationalizing someone lying to you, putting a bandaid on stitches. They come undone over time, and you just try cover it up.
They're lying because you would overreact, right?
Right?
They don't want you to get upset.
Right?
The pretty little lie, still sucker punches you in the gut.
It comes when you least expect it, when you cover it back up with all of the positive things you try to think about to make it disappear.
Here I am, before a shower, and the stitches have come undone once again.

I told you the carnies were ripoff artists, but  If you really wanted, you could have said the real prize was the love in the air that night.

Oh how I miss you.
You're still here, but each day I go longer without hearing from you.
And I know it's my fault.
I'm pushing on glass.
I'm pulling on barbwire.
I make myself a fool each day I wake up. I can't get over this feeling. I'm scared you'll leave me, so I lash out. I'm scared you'll know everything there is to know about me, and be steered away by it.

People are real, no matter whether people believe that life isn't real, a *****, or too real. Sleeping through reality, forgetting, **** that.

You can live without me, and I can live without you, but who's to say we didn't already die.

Everything in the world, the universe, came out so very perfectly. The perfect amount of matter to sculpt something everlasting. Something that will outlast even us.

You, and all of your flaws and imperfections will always mean more to me than all of it, no matter how absolute your colorless sense of carelessness for me, it doesn't matter.
Forget about me if you like, but remember this always.

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 rendition destroyed.
A composition disforming.
A mistake was made.
A failure was gained.
A regret pondered.
A lesson never taught.
A cosmic orchestration to be repeated over and over again.

Want to pretend like I'm having some sort of Revelation. But I still feel alone, I'm still holding back my anger, and my urge to curl my hands into fists, my urge to leave behind everyone and leave myself royally *******. I want to destroy myself entirely.

Road **** laying in the gutters on the side of the street. Empty feeling of dispare as he ponders on the dread of death. Second comes sadness as he stares in the rear view mirror.
He turns to look at her in her big brown eyes as he tells her that he saw.
Together they faced the **** each and every time they were on the road.
As much as he tried to protect her from this, all they could do was acknowledge it together.

From time to time I happen across the things you say, and they make me giggle, they make me blush. Your humor gets me going and later leaves me numb and nauseous, like a slow rising roller coaster ride.
Knowing that none of it is for me brings me down when I'm staying up, and all I can hope for is that it ends someday.

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

When I say I love you, do you hold your head up high? Or do you hide face.
Don't let the others see, it's a shame.
I want to be something you're proud of, not just another of the same, lost in the crowd.

I no longer want others to understand, I want them to see me. They keep staring at the curtains, once they've opened, but not at what's standing right in front of them. Maybe it's selfish, but to me, this is my show. That I am performing for them, and I am no clown. I am a poet. So please just see me, stop trying to understand me.

I told her that she would love it, because I knew that she would. Was it selfish of me to hope that she wouldn't love it more than she loved me?

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.

Some nights it feels like my soul is just shattering, and when I wake up the next day I'm just picking up the pieces.

She wore a baggy sweater, on the cold colorless night. Walking down the corner of ******* boulevard and  litter lane.
Bleak as it always was, she dreamt of wearing a red dress to give color to the black and white.

But she was too afraid, and she didn't.

I held her in my arms tightly,
so tightly I was sure she could feel the shivers going down my own spine.
     No harm would ever come to her while she was in my grasp, but **** me if ever I held her too tightly, so tightly  I myself were to hurt her.

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.

Everyday since she left it seems as if the world is going to just stop spinning. The feeling lingers like a cough or a sigh, a slight pain in the head that happens when you're alone.

I don't want to think about it, so just let the world end while I sleep on it.

I woke to find myself in a pitch black room, I can hear you faintly.
In the distance your voice and another, I leave the room to search.
The voices get louder, I can make out the other voice as I start to hear yelling. It's me..?
We're arguing, but it isn't me.. it couldn't possibly be me because I'm here.
Where am I? This place is so dark, the lights have all gone out, why won't they work?
Where are you? I can still hear you, the arguing has become more intense, I'm yelling your name, searching each room, this place seems to grow more vast. Like an abyss I can't escape.
My love, help me.. I'm trapped in my own mind. Don't listen to this imposter!
Don't leave me alone.
Break these doors down, I'm sorry.. I need you.

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.

I may not remember the names of the songs we used to sing together. Regardless, I adored them as you did. And as much as you can deny now, they once belonged to us.

The flower was yanked from the ground, because the thought of weeds the people couldn't handle. He didn't protect what needed his protection. He couldn't preserve an ounce of what was important. Spring has now gone, and it will not come again.

A white room hues ocean blue as the sun rises, with a ceiling that screamed to be stared at on another sleepless night. But I continue to see her face like a constellation, and I grow weary, and I grow lonely.
These stars don't shine down on me, in spite of how beautiful they glow; they stared in a most disconcerting way. And I cannot wish upon them, I can only stargaze, and hope that someday they'll no longer gaze back.

Everything that we ever saw together, every time I made you laugh or you made me laugh, every feeling and memory we ever shared and made, has been reduced to just two strangers with dust in their blood.

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

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?

Here comes the policeman, tucking in his stomach, puffing up his chest. I play out what I'll say in my head, and try to clear the fear stirred up by a bad daydream. He calls to me, asks my name. I hand him my license, as I stutter at an  attempt to know what I've done wrong. He ignores me, and has me get out of my car. I try to keep calm, but it proved difficult, as I hadn't mentally prepared very well for this, and we've all seen the stories that always have been.
So I put my hands on my car and stay very still, but to my surprise I feel a slight sting as I graze the hood.
I was falling.

What had just happened? What was this eerie silence that filled the air? Why has this chaotic world suddenly come to a halt?
I began to feel sleepy after I struck the ground, a strange feeling of drowsiness and pain. Was I dying? There are lights, bright and obnoxious; I see one, no, two people lift me up, but it wasn't me. It couldn't have been me, because I was watching them go.

They were forgetting, they were leaving my life by the door.

*Please, come back.

This is for the one I love.

Funny how such a small thing can cause me such happiness. A chain reaction: mistakes caused me regret, I destroyed myself from the inside out, sadness envoloped me, my loved ones kept me afloat until she came, I learned, and now I'm on a marathon.
Gonna keep running with her, and we're never gonna see that finish line.

A lifelong amount of moments to a matter of seconds in my head, a few drops of liquid in my brain that could have erased all of the miserable feelings in my uneasy gut.

You used to always roll my sleeves up for me, but now my sweaters are in the closet and they're catching dust.
And now winter is coming, but I would have worn them for you in the summer.

He slept tonight dreaming of a world so beautiful and wonderfully crafted. Yet when he awoke, the comparison of the one he loved he could not fathom. This dream was unbelievable, but of course, this dream was only feeble to him as he awoke to her voice.

The right to appropriate all that is within their view is what they believe they had. Without any remorse for who got hurt as they spouted on about something they knew nothing about. And If blood ran red white and blue, they're hearts would be as empty as their cause.
What a sad way to lose your humanity.

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?"

There I was becoming apart of a time unknown to me, with a woman I had barely met. "I'm going to tell you a story.", she said.
"This sky you see above you was once a bright romantic vision to gander upon. I used to ponder  each night of all the lessons that could be taken from such a vast wondrous space,  but over time it darkened, you couldn't even tell the night from day. Only empty space was left. Yet, despite this , it's mystifying spell was only strengthened and my curiosity was brighter than ever before."
She spoke of the irrefutable wisdom each had to lend, how neither light nor dark were more significant than the other because they were indifferent.

That black sky that once shined incandescently became the first wonder of my world. My god, what a cold sight it was.

A frolicking being, with no rules or distortion. A god of their own playpen, but regardless, mortal. But does an immortal being surpass a mortal in any other sense than time? Who’s to say.

A heat that keeps the chest warm, reminds of the days that hurt the most. They leave a feeling of distaste, but a curious cat walk trail has you lost in it all. A care in a world of apathy, the holiest of feelings in an unholy being. You look back on that trail, realizing that the warmth brought the coldest and most stagnant of days, you are frozen in time.

Today a man spoke to me; a drunkard, telling me what I should and shouldn't do. A part of me felt like a child again. Responding to others with that silence, they barely mean a thing in that moment.
Once I got home, I couldn't help but think about who he thought he was, what reason he had to tell me this. Out of want for respect, decency? In a world full of drunkards, murderers, perversions, and death.
Insanity pocketed in beings who believe they are sane, telling others that they should also be sane.
Tellmewhatthatis.
Another language.
A shape.
A joke.
A man who stumbles through life, for the next alcoholic fix, until his eventual death.
No one would care in the end. They all speak the same careless language at the end of the days. We sleep alone with ourselves regardless of who is there.

So what would be the point of me listening.
Why should I feel ashamed of doing something I wanted to do, when we're all going to die someday?

To move on-

1. To leave.
"His mom told him that he should move on with his life"

2. To ignore.
"To see a beautiful flower, and not pick it. You will see it, then never see it again.  You move on."

3. To leave her alone.
"She left you alone, so you do the same, move on."

4. Beautiful, isn't it?
"To move on?"

Antonyms: to obsess, to bring up the past, to pick the flower.

Pathetic, isn't it?
You'll never move on. You're grasping at the past.
Grasping at  innocence.