I see you in the stars,
by the shadows of my back.
   reflections in your image, holding on to hope.
     I look at my pores, impregnated by tears of sorrow.
       Of an ancient tune, of nurtured love that has yet to bloom.
          For until we meet again, dust is what you are.
            My body is your coffin, an instrument for you heartbeat.

This pain I have carried.
   This pain I proclaim,
        This song I sing,
             This song of love,
                  I can not erase
                    when will
                       I finally
                           be
                             f̶r̶e̶e̶?̶

I have written thousands of poems,
30,000 thousand words and counting.

A quilt of memories both mine and yours,
   quatrains and couplets amongst swaying palm trees.


I wrote about anger, I wrote about hate,
   I wrote about death, I wrote about love,
       I wrote about lust, I wrote about you.

I drew maps in the stars,
   and my words became waves of emotion plunging
     me ever deeper into insanity.

But the words yet left unwritten,
    can not be created or describe,
       each day l̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶

This wave of emotions,
that has invaded with savory harmony of unbreathable anxiety.
Mornings to nights, nights faded. . .
sorrows well achieved and joys badly lived.
Be still my wounded heart,
as it pulls me in.

Every kiss you make,
  memories will cross your mind,
      and you will feel my lips once more.
         Forever tied in unyielding song forever on repeat.

When you are angry at him and you yell,
    Just remember. . .
       Some of us wish we could see him, talk to him, yell at him.
             Life is cruel and fast always 𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓱 it.

Life has made me write poems,
for others they have created poems,
I live vicariously through their moments,
each kiss, each love, each heartache.

Life has made me write secrets,
of others nightly silhouettes,
full of passion, full of grace, full of desire,
each touch, each stroke, each breath.

Life has mocked me with the moon,
with all its grace that illuminates you at night,
as you take flight oh sweet moth towards its light.

Life has scorned me,
  taken from me, broke me,
        now I write poems,
          and live 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮 through others.
             for I fear to 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓸𝔀𝓷.