Thanks for always being there,
And giving me advice,
kissing me, and healing me
When my heart was solid ice.

I knew you must have thought
I was using you for ***,
But you always stuck around,
Gentle kisses on my neck.

When I look back in time
And see the things you did,
I realize how severely
You wanted to be more than friends.

You’d be there to console me
At any moment’s notice.
You tried to keep me calm
When my girlfriend got suspicious.

We had to keep it secret
So I pretended you were nothing.
I felt guilty being near you
But your presence was a blessing.

You gave me confidence and clarity,
Helped me see past my demons.
Even though I wronged you,
You saw me as a decent human.

The things that I was doing.
Were kinda ****** up,
So why’d you go along with it
And insist that we hook up?

Was it because you loved me?
Why didn’t you tell the truth?
Maybe I would have ended things
With the girl that wasn’t you.

Everything was convoluted.
The details left me confused.
It was bad but also good.
I felt like I had nobody else.

Despite the immorality,
Of the decisions that I made,
You never even judged me,
Just played along in my game.

I was incredibly stupid.
What were you blinded by?
My charming personality
Or my blatant and obvious lies?

I’m sorry for everything,
And I’m sure you probably knew.
It was all because I’m insecure and
I needed someone like you.

I hope you know I’m sorry,
That I wouldn’t hurt you again.
Thanks for the late night conversations.
Thanks for being my best friend.

They’re back.
   Returning like the sun
      To the horizon by morning,
         A genuine gold crown
            In place of a shadowy
               Silver mask; equally as
                  Blinding as the yellow sky,
                     But covering a face
                        Concealed by lies
                           And grand performances.
                              A sickness of sadness
                                 Overwritten by a new
                                    Plague of shining smiles
                                       And voluntary sleeplessness,
                                          Symptoms evocative of the lost
                                             Thoughts rematerializing within
                                                The great oceans of my mind.
                                                   An already accepted fate
                                                      In bold prophetic writing,
                                                         Burned pages at a time and
                                                            Rewritten in a language
                                                               Of crystalline passion.
                                                                  My will has returned.

Introspection is pain
Which severs the mind
From its body.

An existential misery
Evoking visceral self-hatred.

A fear of oneself
And a heavy cloud
Of doubt and misinformation.

Indecisive.
                               Distant.

Relying on the mercy
Of a damaged conscience.

It is being lost
Without a map
And relying on the universe itself
To guide you home.

No remedy
Save for clearing
One's own mind.

No salvation
Save for discovering Truth.

Introspection is a realization
That you're not even in control
of your own thoughts.

You have never been definite.
Your infinite definitions, each
contradicting their precedent.

A dull, double-edged sword,
unsharpened, unsheathed,
guided through my chest
by naïve empathy.

You are perfection
with intrinsic flaws--
I drown in the furious rapids
of your teary waterfalls.

I could venture on my own,
avoid you altogether,
but risk losing the essence
that keeps my soul tethered.

If you are love, you are an empty prison.
Empty cells,
empty halls,
plain white walls, motives hidden.

So what am I feeling?
Is this pain or affection
knocking loudly on my conscience
and interrupting my healing?

I curse the wrecking ball of time,
A metronome of fate ticking
My life away,
Demolishing my ambitions
And constructing a concrete past
Upon the stone
Foundation of my regrets,
And I cannot rewind or redeem
What was wasted,
The precious minutes and seconds
Spent on cheap moments
With no thought or reason,
Paid for in priceless gold,
A treasure that cannot be salvaged
No matter how many devices
I have at my disposal,
Yet in the process of managing
my moments remaining,
I continue to throw it all away;
The cruelty of time cannot be changed.