A few months ago,
I met a man, but not just any ordinary man.
A colourfully, depressed man;
Who has beautiful designs on his body.
A main key to unlocking the door that hold his demons.
Now I only have a visual and auditory idea of what's going inside his mind.
From what he told me, but I know he leaves out so much more.

The tattooed man is exhausted,
Depression holds him hostage;
A mistress of misery
He found a comfort in her grasps,
He sleeps in her palms, tossing and turning for hours on end,
Restless coma.
He was always so sleepy.
Her lips whispering venomous yet addictive words into his ear.
Planting seeds of doubt and harmful flowers,
He adores his damaging garden, with objects scattered there and here.

The tattooed man is so very tired of breathing,
I can hear it within his stern voice
I can reminisce his fatigue glance, inside his dark brown orbs;
Suicide tempts him.
Every minute of the day,
every breath he takes
Suicide tempts him like a hunter baiting it's prey

Clawing and searching desperately for an exit.

The tattooed man told me, he why he covers himself in tattoos.
The irritating sting of the needle is way better than satisfying the desire to guide a knife across his skin.
Colors and designs imprinted everywhere on his body,
His face, arms, legs, hands and neck.
And let me tell you, he is beautiful to me.

He told me he’s always scared,
During the twilight of the night, on the drive home from our 2 day road trip.
And I’ve never heard so much serenity inside his voice before.
His eyes lower, but they almost seem to shine
in the moons illuminating glimpse
“I hate making new friends,” he said,
“Because that means I’ll have more ties and bonds to this life.
If the relationship is there, I can’t die.”
And dying is something he really wants to achieve.
Just as much as Olympians want their gold medals.

The tattoo man grew a liking to I, and he is very precious to me.
(Vice versa)
I grew very fond of him, like two gnarled trees entwining together.
And now i’ve become very selfish
And I don’t want let him give in to suicide.

Of course I do miss you, why would I be lying about that?

I just try not think of you as much.

I do lay awake at night and try not to respond to your texts. Pretending I'm asleep; headphones in, music blasting and my mind does travel back to you sometimes. You're there. More so than I would like. It is distracting at times, but I think I am learning how to occupy my mind more and more.
The more I do, the more you disappear.

Yes, it does sadden me; for I have forgotten how your voice sounds; from your lowest whispers to your abrupt laugh. How your muddy eyes look. Your stupid foxy smirk. The way your hand caressed mine. Running my hands through your hair, entwining my fingers through the tips. Tracing your tattoos on your body like a roadmap on a page.

So.
Yeah, I do   reminisce, jus not as much. I shouldn' be saying any of this since we both are with other people and we love those other people, and we don't want to do anything that'll hurt them. But this is a process for me.

It is just a part of me that is moving on from you.

I remember,
The way you held my hand as you drove.
Your secure and homely embrace, the strong touch of your arms around my body.
The soft and warm touch of your lips on mine.
I swear, I fell in love over and over again, with each whisper, each laughter we shared.
To the moment you told me you 'love me'.
Correction; "Loved me".
I now realise that you've never loved me as much as you claim,
Your actions of seeking out other women confirmed a lot.
I know now, that wasn’t love.
It was the thought of being ‘in love’ that put you in a nostalgic state.

You didn’t love me.
You were just afraid to be alone,
And I can’t think of one good reason why I assumed you loved me.

I couldn't think of one good reason.

Inside of her eyes she begs that you see the love she has for you.
In her forced smile, she begs that you can see her soul desiring to touch yours again.
And within her voice she begs to say "I love you" instead of "goodbye."

"Mom?" I whisper, your bedroom door slowly creaks open
Pill bottles still clutter around your nightstand along with
Your blue journal with a family photo of us glued to the front page.
My mind manipulates me, toys with my vision; hallucinations
Your bedroom is now bleak, bitter, a cloud of sadness above it
You're favorite blanket is still sprawled out on your perfect bed,
untouched and cold.
I'm afraid to touch it 'cause it was your favorite thing in this world.. I creep over to your bed, "Mom?" I wait for answer.
My fingers touch the softness of your blanket, memories appear like an adrenaline rush and the sadness accelerates.
I fling it over myself. It still smells like you.
I lay in your bed, wrapped in your fleece blanket, shuddering.
"Mom?" I whimper.
I remimince the sounds of your soft and loving voice, calming me
"My baby girl", "I love you", "I'm sorry".
I peek my head out from my bundle of comfort.
Reaching for the framed picture on your nightstand
Healthy, happy, full of life.
Last time I saw you, your eyes were puffy, your face was pale, your voice barely passed as a whisper.

Now, I lay here helplessly,
A empty bottle of pills inside my bitter cold hands.
Mom, please take me home.

"Mom?" I call out in the midst of your room. Everything around me fading to black..

"Hey baby girl." She finally answers back.

"I promised that I would protect you,
To never let him near you again.
You're so fragile like glass..
I know that've failed to keep my promises in that past
but I promise to keep this one.
I can't.. let you.. break."