i can’t write about what it feels like
to run my fingers through your hair
or feel your hands on my skin
(no matter how much i want to)
i can’t speak to the softness of your lips
or what it sounds like
when you whisper my name
(no matter how much i want to)
i don’t know what the skin on your hips
feels like after you’ve showered
or what it’s like to wake up
to your breath on my shoulder
(no matter how much i want to)
i can’t write about the feeling
of our skin
soft and rough
holding hands
(oh god, i want to)
i can’t write about you
in anything other than the abstract
no
matter
how
much
i
want
to

When I saw you; I felt my heart break.
I saw you and I swear I knew you.
Knew that you were never going to love me
the way I would fall for you.
That you would forget me.
I hold on to the memory of your voice and play it in my mind
like it’s my favorite song.
I’m trying to forget the hole you’ve left behind in my existence.
I’m hurting for the love story fairytale ending that
could have maybe never of happened.
And I see you.
The you that you never wanted me to see.
And it’s just been a pain in my mind to make sense of not
having you to wake up to.  
Not having you to look at me when I'm pretending to not notice you staring.
You hold me hostage in the confines of the hours we spent together. Arrested to the times of vulnerability that we shared.
And I’m playing and replaying the details of every memory we made.
Are you the one that I am meant to love forever, or are you simply just the man I am meant to fondly remember.
So here you are.  
The one. My one.
That got away.

You cut yourself and you don’t even feel how it hurts anymore.
You cut yourself and you don’t have control over your life
You cut yourself and you don’t have anyone who cares.
You cut yourself and you don’t need anyone's help.
You cut yourself and you don’t ever bleed.
You cut yourself and you don’t…
You cut yourself and you…
You cut yourself and…
You cut yourself…
You cut…
You.
That’s right, it’s about you.
It’s always about you.
When will it stop being about you?
You’re so selfish.
No one loves you.
How could they?
You can’t even love yourself.
What’s there to love?
You’re such a **** person and you know it.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Screams bounce off the walls. Spit flying from your mouth as you cry out the frustrations.
Only you can hear you and people only pretend to understand what you’re saying, but they’re just as deaf as you are blind.
You’re all alone; and you like it.
It’s your very own personal insane asylum, and everyone is looking at you safely shielding themselves behind glass walls.
You hate it but you need it. You want to escape but not enough to break down the mental barriers you’ve put up.
You are your own enemy and you're kicking your ***.
You’re a burden not worth saving.
Just stay in your room. Stay in your pile of insanity.
Keep everyone safe from yourself.
And one day, hopefully, the void will swallow you whole and it’ll be like you were never here.
You cut yourself because you’re afraid and shaking.
You cut yourself because you don’t want to be weak.
You cut yourself because you don’t feel like enough.
You cut yourself because you feel like a scared child.
You cut yourself and you’re searching for a reason why.
You cut yourself and none of the answers make sense to you.
You cut yourself. And it's always about you.

Stuck in a dream of sun and sea,
I knew those days would matter so much to me.
Your head on my lap, my heart in your hands,
as we buried our worries beneath the sand.

What a wonder it was,
that the world didn't seem to mind
Our undivided attention
And all our stolen time.

Yet it was only time that seemed to be
Our only downfall, our enemy.
For time has the strongest heart
Enough to tear the greatest lovers apart.

Today, I look for you still
in the pages I read, in sheets as soft as silk.
You seem to live in every part
Of anything that matters to my heart.

And as the end of our old days came near,
I didn't count the minutes, I never feared.
I didn't bother to listen to the clock tick,
but to even think of you leaving made me feel sick.

Now we are years apart,
I could never even dream to call you mine.
Maybe if I prayed hard enough,
we would have had more time.