I want my world to be as beautiful as the one you see

I don't want to be with her because in the long run she only makes me sad
because I'm not good enough to fix her
and I want to fix her
but in the process I only get depressed and frustrated because I'm not good enough

But I still love her

I've been keeping a journal of trips I wish you'd taken with me.
An album of photos you should have been in.
A list of nights I wish you'd spent in my passenger seat.

I've been collecting all of our favorite pieces of myself in a mason jar;
Fireflies to leave by your bedside so if you wake up in the middle of the night you won't feel alone.

I know too well the hourglass purgatory that is your absence;
Frighteningly similar to the sensation of waking up in empty darkness, unable to remember falling asleep.

I know now. Redemption hangs in the balance between the fertile crescent and the great pyramids.
The Genesis and the deconstruction.
The dowsing of the flame and the re-combustion.

We're all promised what we won't find. That's why you build up hope and waste your time.
Your position as protagonist will have you looking for exceptions, but we're all just clay living in the third dimension.

Clocks twirl and sing to remind you to keep doing what you're doing, but you would anyway, so who are they fooling ?

They're just as useless as the dollar or the president, or the concept of rules to our residence. And you can't shake the feeling that removing yourself would be best.

Though you're probably right, because our stagnant plight is leading to the roots and dirt. (It's clear as day)
But no one can stomach this, frightened and ******, so with new ideals or meanings we will flirt.

Be free.

I know that it is wrong to complete a puzzle from the inside out
but I think that it is going to be the only way to fill the wholes you've left in me
so now I find myself vacuuming my bed sheets with my nostrils
because I know that the smell of your too short cut hair
is the only thing that will grant me some sleep
I've concluded that it must be your fault that all my lighters have no safetys
I remember cutting my gums every time I'd bite one off for you
Blood just so lighting your cigarette was easier
  But things never were made easy for me, were they?
You ran me dry of money, dry of money, dry of tears
So much time spent on you

finding little pieces of shrapnel buried in my brain
I can't pluck them out like I would Rose thorns in my skin
but I can feel them shake shake shake like beads in a baby's rattle every time I walk past a girl who can also stare right through the fabric of my being
Airport security always stop me, strips me and is puzzled to find that there no bombs in my bags or on my person.
But what they don't know is that I really could explode at any moment
Brimming over with words to say to you if I could ever see you again
But this time I want to really see you
Not sneak into a hospital
Run past doctors, surgeons, and your parents
Only to catch a glimpse of you being kept alive by modern medicine