I don't remember the last time
I heard your voice
or the last time you spoke so
nice and softly to me
like you used to.
I listen to old voicemails
just to hear that voice again.
I don't know what form of torture you
would call that,
but it's like putting a drop
of water in the desert
making it long for more
but we all know water doesn't
belong in the desert.
you don't belong here
with me anymore.

Survivors carry
The lives of those who have passed
Into the new world

A seed
Is like a child
In the arms
Of the earth

A story leaked,
From my open wounds,
And the years escaped,
The cage of my mind,
Poetries screamed my anguish,
And songs revealed,
Too much to stand through.
With welts etched in my legs,
I trudged, stumbling,
Along the thousand avenues,
Finding your arms.
Winds flapped through,
My tattered clothes,
And stars cracked,
And dispersed and crashed.
I kept falling until,
I drowned in oceans,
of your blurred memories.
They filled my lungs
And made me choke.
They pierced my veins
And broke my bones.
I let my breaths flee,
and I fell and fell,
deeper into deepest agony.
It's the end, love,
it's the end.
This is how we end.