Each day I wake up wondering if it's me who has lost you, or it's you who lost me.
Every night before my head hits the bed, I think about you. I try to conjure you up in my sleep but you, Muse,  just like my dreams, steer clear away from me.

I keep wishing for you to knock at my door to shake me up from my reverie.

Break my flow,
Hypnotize,
And overwhelm me!

I know I've treated you like a ***** before, everytime you came unannounced, I sent you back; kicking and screaming like a Banshee.

And now;
With a cheap wine stain,
A woman in rage,
Working on a menial wage
Drinking until her kidneys scream out in pain
-I pass out, just like the last night and the night before.
You've left me in this reality all alone,
Without any words to hide behind.
Without any form of refuge
To keep me safe under this scrutinizing light.

I have a hurricane kept bottled inside and with each beat of my heart, I can feel the cage tremor. But you, like a narcissist; keep on laughing at my misery. You really enjoy this game: where you tug at my heart as I try to resist your influence within my brain.

I often wonder if there are any clues that you've left behind, because after all it was your mystery that had seduced my pride.

Each time I lift up the pen, my spine shivers with anticipation for you to takeover and consume my mind until every word that I scribble, bleeds with truth about the lies that you cook to keep me on your side.

I wish to carve you out of my own soul but right now it feels so hollow and cold.
I need you to set me free,
Keep me up all night and let me bleed;
Like a fresh wound that refuses to heal.
Until all these thoughts in my head finally find peace.

Oh Darling,
you were just a
delicate droplet of water
While he was someone
lusting to drown in the sea.
He didn't know that you
were the beginning of the
tempestuous calamity.
He craved the danger
and assumed that you
just provided serenity,
He wished to conquer
the ocean and
witness the end.
But he failed to understand
that your existence is
something no man can transcend.

Who would've thought that love can bind you
and tear you down all at the same time.

What if I tell you that all his words were based on a lie, and you were just a silly little girl who was prolonging an inevitable goodbye.

I'm a writer,

But what if I tell you that I'm losing my identity? It's been a few months and I feel that I'm slowly losing my ability to write.
I always considered myself a poet. But now, I feel like a dictionary with thousands of blank pages. With no definition and no sense of reason.
And I'm scared.
How will you ever love me now?
You fell in love with me because of my words, didn't you?
They always stirred some sort of emotion within you. Something that you tried so hard to hide. But whenever you read the poems that I wrote, your armor cracked.
What if I tell you that writing had slowly turned into a burden? Baggage that has now become too heavy for me to carry all alone. I realized a while back, how I pushed myself to write just to connect with you. To let you know how I'm suffering. I expressed all my agony through those words. I wrote about how, all those words, that had once been a blessing now seem like punishment.
You called that mad rambling of words, 'Beautiful.' You were too blind to see how this pain was consuming me. So, once again I forced myself to down the poison that you thought, tasted like an age-old wine.

Darlin, the words have abandoned me, and now so did you.

There's a sorrow in my soul
That I wish to share
But it's hiding behind its own curtain of despair.

I was up all night
Wondering what sadness tastes like;
Smooth as honey with a pinch of spice,

As it drips down the throat,
And settles like acid
Burning the intestines.

He told me what regret looks like:
Heartache and gut-wrenching cries.
I knew, it's misery that resides in his eyes;

Crouching in the corner
Ready to pounce,
Biting into the neck,
As the blood spills out

Scraping old wounds,
Blurry sight.
A closet full of skeletons,
With penance on the mind.

Loss smells a lot like Christmas.
Family gathering around
Sharing memories of a lifetime.

Photographs from 1989,
Same old letters
Scattered around the desk.

People talk about what could be
Heaven and Earth,
And everything in between.

Deceit sounds a lot like a dream
You get out of one,
And fall into another as you sleep.

Shards of glass
Ripping through the spine
As shame builds up a shrine.

Desperation feels a lot like home
You float in the air,
As you cling onto hope.

Somedays are better;
Somedays are worse
But what remains

Is a lesson that has been left unheard.