I write now,
A poem of fathomless love.
And you
Are its focus.

My hands have fallen from grace.
And my mind has followed.
I've wasted time,
In an attempt to wish it back.
I've traveled the sea less than once.
And I regret not drowning beneath its salty embrace more than zero.
There is something wrong with my heart...
And yet I let it lead me.
Guiding me ever onwards,
Towards the edge of the paper.
Towards the edge of all that I have ever known.
But little by little,
And with a small leap of faith...
I begin to realize
That that's where the fun begins!
And like the rising sun,
It dawns on me,
That maybe
The comforting embrace
Of mine own grace...
Wasn't the place to grow.

Live for living.
And die for dying.

I could have been anything.
Instead, I was this.

I am afraid of falling asleep.
For a fear of dreaming,
Of endless stars that I cannot count.
All in a rush to get to the end of time.
Where life takes its toll and knocks me out.

Where the rain
Splits in two
Just to hit you twice.

The pressure is finite,
Yet we wait for its bite.
Letting Time seed itself into thought.
Watching it grow to a fault within already suffocating memories.
Tasting the flavor of its rotten decay,
When all else is gone and lost.
Avoiding the touch of a mentality separate from our own.
Only because we reach out and connect with nothing but emptiness.
Witnessing our flesh pass through the colors of our savior's soul.
Tainting their existence with the blackness of our own.
Desperately waiting for the desire to want to change.
From who we were.
From who we are.
And with eyes wide shut,
Wanting to change ourselves from what we are going to become.
Holding tightly to every breath we breathe,
For a fear of letting it evolve into the next one.
And the next one.
And the next one.
Ultimately choking ourselves for a reason we cannot fathom.
Yet knowing it to be a muscle memory we cannot overcome.
From a life long past we scream into the dust that buried us.
Cursing our parents for dying before we flew.
And in the end...
Understanding fully well that we are here if for no other reason,
Than to break ourselves on rocks we cannot see,
And were never really there in the first place.