I tend to do this unforgiving
method of maddness when it comes to writing
I'll start and stop, repeating onto new work
unfinishing the last.

incomplete as each piece may be,
the brain is scattered
lost and afraid, it'll never feel the same way.
connected to what new beginnings
may be.

i love me
do you?
could you ever, truly?
the way you make me feel is
unsettlingly unruly towards self
i couldn’t hurt you the way you’ve done me
it’s not in the cards nor my heart
for it belongs to you.

She reminded me of a summertime story that I
never finished
it's not that my mind wasn't right but time won't permit
we kicked like a pair of shoes, you know? the classics
it wasn't that she ran through my mind she was always there

but when it came time LIFE showed us that it wasn't fair
never in a dream because she was hard to believe in with the elegance of her mighty spirit I heard a voice and thought it wasn't clear, t'was a thought I didn't wanna hear..
"she has a man"
was a phrase I couldn't understand and though I hadn't known him,
it wasn't apart of MY plan.

I knew she felt what I did in every minute
couldn't leave each other side without that breathless moment
unforeseen what I saw but it true, that call,
she still remained the same as if it wasn't at all drowned
in what was the unforeseen, didn't deserve anything but more than what stood before her, remembering all of what could be
between her and me.

i would much rather see dried tears on my pillow than another person in the same bed with me.
not putting more strain on an already broken and irrepairable heart by letting someone in again.
loneliness comforts more than the warmth of another nowadays and that’s how i will stay.
that is the way it’ll remain.

a view through the windowpane was the last thing she left
added to the silhouette of a bloodstain on the bed we use to share where she stole my heart as i laid
covered by sheets still felt by my soul.