That consuming burn
in the middle of your heart,
constantly reminding you
of a mortal life
that was once so distant
but equally clear.

Works as gasoline
for all human beings
and it's called LOVE.

There is a certain gracefulness
in falling to your doom.
As all the broken things surround you,
as all the lost things keep you
from the dark.

And there
in the Dark,
is a place
where shadows call home.

There is an elegance
in contemplating the moon
as your surroundings turn pitch
black.

A nostalgic glare
of two empty beings
340 400 kilometers away.

How Icarus laughed in amazement
even when the end was coming.

That is life.

A Constant Freefall

I feel breathless at any speck of thought —an idea— crossing my mind. I am restlessly wishing for something, prying for crumbs, and my mind is slowly sinking. Breathing words for oxygen, concepts for nutrients. I am a starving girl in a desert of words.

Thats the thing about poetry,
you think im talking about a
broken heart,
when really,
Im talking about a broken
world.

You say I caused the end too
But I never remember choosing someone over you

In the mirror
my reflection is another me
we stand there
staring at each other.
Eye contact
like architecture
flimsy and thin
capable of keeping nothing out
and nothing in.