I exist in fragments
scattered over years and moments
of love, of joy, of pain.

In fragments held by people;
I hope they need them someday
if only a brief remembrance.

In fragments lodged in places
where I've been or have wished to be,
where I loved, I laughed, I cried.

In fragments in your heart
that I broke myself for.
Those fragments I may not find again.

I exist in fragments
broken but knowing
that maybe we all need a fragment of me.

Home for me is darkness
where I can't see but only think.
Reality paints a picture
with frailed brushes and dried ink.
I have a rich eye
for the most beautiful art
so I've done away with scribbles
and the editing part.

I'm scared of ink running free
and bleeding into a depiction of me.
I even struggle with the pristine version of me
that's crafted by my discretion
yet I see it and ask questions.

Why am I painted in shades
of grey, black and blue?
I hope to see my life unfold
but regret it as I rue
the persistance I put upon wondering
instead of going forth and wandering.

I'm left in my life to discover
instead of have it uncovered.
I need no brush or a pen,
just a heart and a new life to begin.

I hold your love
so closely on this jagged cliff,
balancing, somehow, you give me strength.
We have mere inches of safety
but years of love and lust to live for.

I look down and see darkness imminent
but look at you and see my life unlimited.

I'll hold on in my sleep
I'll hold on when I'm awake
journey etched in many grains of sand
and I can't forget it because
you cast a tornado to blitz my window
as if I understood your symbolism
of little grains of sand that you told me
each one is more than its appearance
as its apparent you're at peace with this desert climate
while you told me it's best to dig deeper
because there's so much I'll never
comprehend like each piece of you is a grain of sand
So I'll hold on in my sleep
I'll hold on when I'm awake
because I'll never let your little grain of sand drift away.

I just want to be
significant.
In a month or two, to you,
relevant.
In three months would you be
hesitant?
Four months since the first message
ever sent.
Five months isn't much but still
I've went
Onto a six month journey I'm so
hellbent.
Seven months your seven wonders ever elegant.
Eight months I've ate the words I wish I never meant.
Nine months naive that I thought you were heavensent
and onto ten I've given up like an early Lent.
Eleven maybe easier
when the dent
in my heart is healing but I hoped
in a year I'd be more significant.

It felt like I wore an armoured vest.
I was guarded from my sins
even if I didn't believe in sin.
The mind's power knows no bounds
in it's ability to forget
and it's hope to be forgiven.
It justified every action,
every tasteless thought
and every lustful litany
of divine misdemeanor.

I felt invincible, then I met you,
and I learned you could hurt me.
Your defiance did pierce me,
a flame headed arrow
through my chain mail chest.
My love just mere cloth
that you slashed quickly through.

The stronger the pain
came the greater intrigue.
Why were you so rageful
and in protest of my admiration?
You may have hurt me,
but you are more broken than me.
Perhaps you were just what I needed.
A selfless deed as a soul to be saved.
Someone to be cared for
as I've ignored many before.
Someone to love with no love back,
someone to give joy while I cry.
If you ride off into the sunset
while I still lay wounded,
you will have left me moral gold
to forge my armour back.