Desperately searching for that gold,
The treasure beneath the surface
Chiseling away with nothing but bare hands
Ripped and torn from the climb to get here
Making patterns like paintings in the rock face
But my blood means nothing
Blood cannot claim a mountain
But being the first to find his treasure can
So I dig, pry, and chisel
Slicing away at fingertips
Leaving paintings like sacrifices behind

Desperate, I slam my hands into the surface
If the mountain will not be mine
I will be his
Strength, anger, sadness, frustration,
and love
Smash into his surface.

My hands may be gone,
But the mountain,
The mountain bleeds back.

Here I am
Still hanging on every word


Even after the floor dropped out from underneath

I know I chose this
I put myself here,
Chose to walk this path
Instead of all the others.
I could still be your best friend
You could still be mine
I could pretend to have casual *** with you
If only to have those still moments in the dark after.
Instead I chose the alternative.

No more smothering you in hopes,
Expectations we'll never live up to,
And affection you don't want.
No more fighting over who gets the outside of the bed,
Or whose fault it is that I take too long in the shower,
Which position to fall asleep in.
Little spoon.

They keep telling me this is right,
This is what's best for the both of us
Since we two are in different life chapters.
(I claim chapter 46,
when Woodpecker tells Leigh-Cherie
that Love is the ultimate outlaw)

The rift I conceived when I pushed you away
Holds nothing but echos
Memories.
They tell me it's time,
But I don't need to make room in my life
When I already found my person.

I want to tell you all of it
Every syllable I could summon up
To explain
But all I can muster up are fighting words


**And *******,
I miss you.

Drunken admissions,
Confessions, decisions, and statements
Can they be trusted?
Because some would argue that
Drunk words hold true meaning,
But drunk actions lack thought.
So which is it?
Is it either?
Because your pattern of opening up when drunk
Has me doubting your promises.
You don't think she's a bad person,
And it doesn't make it easier.
You like her
And she's like you
And that's what makes it easier.

I never should have let it go
That far
Even now, I can still feel
The aftershocks of your choices.

He told me
When we stumbled to the end of our path
And parted ways
That he would have written for me
Had I asked
And while I reject the concept
Of having to ask for forced dedications,
I still wonder
What he would have written.