How much do I write
to tell the world how beautiful you are?
How many words would it take
to describe your compassionate soul?
How long do I speak for
to let them know how precious you are,
to me and to the world?
How incomplete would I be
to not find home in your embrace?
*Without you, it's always so cold

It's exhausting being us. Half-lidded
eyes that reflect the darkness
between stars, impedimented acceptance
of where you are in life. Our adventures
are painful pursuits to locate
authenticity in a filtered world that
seems ugly every other day.

We move through life like a slow exhale
of smoke, hurt gathering inside our chests
lasting for months and years. This bitterness,
it burns. But we don't stop because
watching ourselves bleed is just another form
of living.

Life can be so full that it almost
bursts, or it can be depleted as a
vacuum ******* your epiphanies and
inspiration out of your body until
you explode in
self-doubt. You and I, we don't have
time for false apologies
at the rate of our inconsequential
breathing. We are not red-flags
in our own eyes, we are just
impatient for self love
to finally have a meaning.

Kiss the calamity on my lips
and leave your imprint of
atrophy like a stain on my skin.
What is really a love poem
but bits of broken words
you said in your sleep?

I hear music in the distance
that sounds like things I cannot
romanticize with justice. There's
deterioration in the melody, and
with every beat
your heart skips I get a closer look
at the fragments of you that fell apart.
Somethings are just too personal,
like what I daydream about 24/7, or
that fire dancing behind your closed lids
that warms your dreams when
another can't fuel them
physically.

The biggest thing about ourselves we
could hope to have is our
complex. And even that
is pretty small. The ground can't
handle the weight of our hearts
and we're just begging to slip
into the cracks of the
pavements to our proverbial
futures. You always did
connect more to torn and ripped
remains of poems
than fresh handwritten ones, with
evidence of my glistening
fingerprints
all over.

We don't die like stars, you say. We die
like heartache. Real, tangible,
and then just gone.

He's the wolf that followed
the trail of blood. He followed
the drops on the white forest
floor. The cuts were deep and
wounds created a river of red.
No life existed in the water. The
smell of blood was left on my
car seat. And the little wolf
seemed to be following me.
To heal the scars. To howl with
grief at the moon. To call for
help. The little wolf was the
only living soul who had
mercy left. The only soul that
came to rescue me. That
little wolf knew the meaning
of loyalty* ~

Have you ever noticed how birds seem to fly to a melody unsung?
That the eyes seem to speak a stronger language than any that we've known?
How the stars keep their shine no matter the time,
And no matter how much time passes, our souls stay young?

Maybe you've never noticed the story your face tells in between the seconds it takes for me to say, "I love you"
And maybe you've never noticed the way I look at you like there's no concept of time,
The moments you cross my mind when there's no reason or rhyme,
Yes, maybe this isn't the place or time but how much time are we really guaranteed?
No, you'll never understand how much of me you've possessed,
How little time it took for me to become obsessed,
You'll never understand how much beauty I see when I see you fast asleep,
No words to describe how much you already mean to me.
But the truth is, no matter how much time I have with you, no time will ever be enough,
Because time brings limitations,
And its endings are too abrupt,
We are bound to it, enslaved by the mere idea,
No, it doesn't matter how much time passes or how old we get,
*There will never be enough words or time for you to understand a love which has no limits.