"why don't you date?"
we made a pact,
   when we said I do,
I promised to be there,
   even when he's not here,
          I'll always be there,
                  even in death. . .
-l̶o̶y̶a̶l̶t̶y̶

It hurts. . .
the home we didn't build,
the moments yet lived,
the house not purchased,
the vacations not taken,
the memories not lived
it hurts, dreaming of what we could do. . .

You explored each crevice,
   pulled apart each door,
      burned your image across the waves,
traversed every mark & every ridge
like the roots in dry desert heat,
you drank your fill and moved on,
naked & embarrassed
     I now lay alone,
          I wish it was not so.

Close your eyes
   count to three,
it'll go away,
  it'll be okay,
four, five, six
   open your eyes
      you'll be fine
ten, eleven, twelve
when he died, I lost my sight
   I lost my purpose,
     twenty, thirty, fifty
I will never be okay. . .
       & that's okay. .  .

This Christmas,
   I do not ask for a lot,
      I simply wish to dream eternally,
                  so we may meet once more
just a second in time, to ask for forgiveness for who I became.

Inside my polished surface,
my seas are in constant disarray,
the soul, its sweet nectar that fills every crevice.
violent; angry; bitter soul.

Inside my mental shell of self protection,
and the "person" it protects
from the poison that spews from my heart
my soul speaks to me; it reminds me I am weak
violent; angry; bitter soul.

I know well that there is no escape,
no sculptor can prefect; the stone that is broken
no painter can fix; the lines that have bled
no poet can create; emotions which no longer exist
I drag the stones of my own damnation
eternal ; violent; angry; bitter soul.

As time passes, my exterior becomes unpolished
manicured hands become wrinkled and weak,
legs of harden meat, become toothpicks
time is constant,
there is no escape,
but one thing remains
my eternal, violent, angry bitter soul. . .
    that weeps for you. . .

I know my beauty pales in comparison to the beauties of the world,
        the beauties you can find.

Your connoisseur feelings were dragged by my brain, by my words, by my heart with all its splendor, the cadence of my thoughts, the idealism and peculiarity of my mind.
      but I'd be joking if that was true.

You fell in love with my looks, the fury of my ***, and even when I have you I can't help but feel that I lose. . . for I know this love will n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶. . .