i can feel everything we have slowly slipping through my fingers.

i'm trying so hard to hold on but it's like trying to stop sand from falling

through an hourglass and i just can't hold on much longer and i keep

begging and crying out for you to help me and for you to hold on but

the more i do the more your fingers open and all of the sand is falling

so quickly i don't know how to stop it.

*please don't let me go

Please remember to break me gently
Take your sharp tongue and slice me tenderly
With your offenses destroy me lovingly

i get nervous when i think about you-
yet if you called me over tonight i’d probably be there in 20.

i used to write poems about my ex’s marlboro reds-
now i have trouble muttering a word about that parliment
hanging off your lips so eloquently.

i can only pick myself off the ground a few hours at a time everyday-
the rest of the time my fingers are fumbling to the tune of my inner
ramblings of anxiety.

i move around my room arranging objects no one really needs-
for what?
to tune out the sound of your voice in my head
telling me I’m probably doing something wrong-
again.

promises of love
and dediction
we believe we are grown
but inside of us
just under the surface
is a child wanting to be comforted
to be loved
so we hide this part of us
the colours in our mind slowly dying
because they say to keep something maintained you
must nourish it
but the nourishment we need
is rare
and this makes our palettes grey
resorting to unorthodox versions of what we need
crutches and supports
that people refuse to speak about
the childhood friend
that moved away
when you were young
unable to cohere as to why
they couldn't stay
wrapped in the dreamland
of explosive joy