I can’t tell you how to love
or how other people do it.
Only how I do,
and how it consumes me.

There was a time,
that all I wanted
was to sleep next to you.

To be able to wake up next to you.

Now I can’t escape the nightmares
every time I share my bed
with you.

A bottle of red
held to a splintered heart.
As smoke drifts
for a cause lost.

Words come
and words go.
Actions promised
always fall short.

I blame myself,
the hatred in my veins.
Causing me to realize
I’ve become a man of shame.

I can not love,
for it is opposite to what I am.
A thing of night and fury
forever to loneliness ******.

My father once asked me
what I thought the strongest thing on earth was.

I said it was the human heart.

With an inquisitively arched eyebrow he asked why.

I told him because nothing breaks apart and comes back together quite as flawlessly.

I’ll never understand why some people think being called weird is an insult.
I’d hate to be normal.
We’re all a little weird in our own ways and that’s what makes us unique.
That’s why I’m in the habit of thanking people that call me weird.
For I just can’t imagine a more wonderful compliment.

“How could you give up on me?”

-

“Why could you never believe in me?”

I find
that I can not trust others.

How could I?

When I am just learning
how to trust myself...