I  had a dream last night
where i blinked
and you were gone.

A lifetime had passed
between the two of us
i had become old
and feeble and frail.
and the world was so different
without you there.

I  looked for you everywhere
asked everyone if they’d seen you.
and i cried,
as you slipped further and further away.

But i kept going
with my weak little heart
and my teary eyes
and aching body.

And i lived for you
for the both of us
for the memory
of your smile
and the sound of your voice.

The pieces of my weak little heart,
shifting with every stitch,
every clumsy thread meant to pull me back together,
kept pumping
kept thumping
kept beating
kept living.

And i laughed
when i felt our fingers intertwine
for the first time in forever
i laughed until i cried.

Then i woke up,
uncertain, unsure
if this was a dream come true,
until i found you,
and my heart healed once more.

Love is a memory,
Forgotten in time.


Love is a memory,
A story, that I left behind.


Love is a memory,
Of all the lies that I ever knew,
in lie of truth.


Love is a memory,
On the digital analogy particles of my soul.


Love is a memory,
One I choose to lose.


Love is a memory,
That I will give back to the dark.


Love is a memory,
That once little a silent spark.


Love is a memory,
In the wastelands that is, I.


Love is a memory,
In a forgotten corner of my mind.


Love is a memory,
Like that of a forgotten dream.


Love is a memory,
The forgotten and unwanted parts of me.


Love is a memory,
A battlefield, in which I stand alone.


Love is a memory,
That has left me out in the cold.


Love is a memory,
One to which, I now choose not to know.


Love is memory,
Burned into my soul.


Love is a memory,
That I choose not to know.


Love is…
Love is…
Love is…
A memory.

I am an artist,
Though I cannot paint.
I cannot write a novel.
I cannot act in a film.

Yet I am an artist,
My paintbrush is my razor.
My story is told through my tears.
My film is life and my smile-
is the main character.

I am an artist,
An artist with a dark truth.
A hidden story,
And a made up happy ending.
I am an artist,
An artist that has ran out of space-
for my crimson creativity.
An artist that has cried my last story;
An artist that has pretended for the last day.

I am an artist,
An artist who has done my time,
And has been beaten by sadness.
I am an artist,

An artist who’s art is not appreciated.
An artist who never reach the height of- worlds noticeability,
An artist whose art will die as I do.

I was an artist,
Until my art took over me,
And now – I exist not.

Today’s my birthday,
Guess I’ll get some cake.
Maybe a glass of milkshake,
To celebrate
The date.
Birthday of Alex.
Once I get off work,
It’ll be a real big celebration.
With all my friends,
This day will not be filled with frustration.
Today’s feeling different,
Today’s feeling green,
Then I come home and
I open the door,
All as I can see,
An empty room!
Then I start to see my old friends,
Anxiety, depression and suicidal thoughts creep in.
They open up gifts of loneliness and disappointment,
calamity, pani,
Heartbroken.
I figure it’s time to blow my candle,
See ya world,
That’s all the birthdays I can handle!