Oh god it's you. And yes, I mean you again
as seeing the sight of you just one more time
will forever remind me that we're not meant to be.

I'm fed up with this romantic crap.
This fogged up appearance of love.
Whispers of fairy tale romances that are really just fiction.

Perhaps I'm wrong. But until I can write my own story
I'd like to be left alone
to discover it with someone else.

Heartbreak gives you a lot of inspiration.
Some of the best poems, songs, and books have come from a writer being heartbroken.
But, no matter how good it is for writing..
I'm sure the writers wish they were writing about being in love, instead of how they fell out of it.
Even if that means no one might read it.

Today I felt worth-less.
Not in the sense that I had nothing
but like I had less of what I was before.

I guess for some this isn't a bad thing
but for me I'm not too sure...

I shun happiness not voluntarily
but in the way one's covers
slip off in the night
I never chose this misery
instead I awoke
cold and alone
aware I was unprotected
but in a sleepy haze of apathy
I accept my fate
vulnerable to the darkness
that surrounds my every thought

You don't miss someone at 2 in the morning, you're all alone.
You could miss anyone when you're by yourself.
You miss someone when it's 2pm, and you're surrounded by other people, but you just want that one person.
You miss someone when you're busy at your job, but you still find yourself reminiscing.
You miss someone when you're working-out, going for a run, and they're still in your head with every step.
It's easy to miss people when you have the time, when you're lonely.
But, the people who truly mean the most, the ones you really miss, are the ones you think about when you don't have the time to.
2pm people.  
The ones that occupy your thoughts no matter what.

The cracks in my skin reveal the truth.
The reality that I'm breaking.
My whole being is destroyed slowly
to leave the remains of nothing,
nothing left but a broken shell.

The hollow shell of an empty human.
A forgotten soul neglected in the corners of a dark room.
Left to gather dust and anything possible
to have some sort of value,
to find purpose.

My skin breaks away from me like it never belonged.
Cell by cell my meaning is lost
and that all is left is bones for dead.

But until I get to that point my skin will crack,
and will continue to crack until I'm gone.