The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

There will come a day
When I look at where we once were
And feign a smile, caught in nostalgia, and
Think to myself of what we once were —
There will come a day
When I see you as no more than a poorly developed photograph
Imitating a life which has been long since abandoned.
There will come a day
When I discover truth.

I'm too tired not to give up.
I even told myself what should I have:
Space—so that I can breathe,
And peace, for I haven't tasted it.

They told me to sleep,
But I always found myself to weep.
It's terrifying yet so serene;
I was swayed by my friends, demon.

It's not the time at 3 AM
When they happen to appear;
I've been always with them
To ease where I suffer.

Even demons can be friends, too.
They saved me from crying over you.
They were there to embrace me
And put me in a poetic agony.

Dry ink in my head

I have no pen to write what must remain unsaid

caged words between my ears

imprisoned by frustrated tears of rage

that grow to fill a vast and empty page

I awakened to your energy
an explosion, a profusion
rapturous light splicing air,
raining as fingertips
igniting my core with possibility
all desires alight in solitary flame
burn through self-doubt
incinerate negativity
until golden embers, I become
floating upon your dreams
harvesting thoughts
currents that harmonize
a fallen past with this eternity
feel my breath upon your lashes
change this perception of living
entangle belief, liberate desires
you, we, are whatever
our minds prophecy -
imagine what you adore
cultivate its garden
within your soul