Absence does something to the heart,
and while you were gone,
I balanced its workings
against my forgetfulness,
lest the soft drumming memories
in my burdened chest be drilled
away as angry metal to concrete,
replete with the chiseling
of your exit.

Absence does something to the heart,
and while you were gone,
its hold would conjure the best
days against the soft rays
of sparkling hindsight,
melting away the stony corridor
lining the path between
yesterday’s reminiscent smile
and today’s familiar hurt.

Absence fondled my aching heart
while you were gone,
making a home in its chambers,
settling, cleaning, applying time
to bandage the tissue
needing healing,
and the something it did for me,
made me fonder of the freedom
you threw at my feet
once you were gone.

A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give

A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all

He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim

He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown

A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer

There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back

To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent

If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?

Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore

If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.

stitches.
that won't do the trick,
this pain is far too deep for any stitch to mend.
I look down at my arms,
what have I done?
not again.
they trusted me,
and I let them down.
what am I to do?

they thought I was better -
when I just got better at lying.
I'm not proud of these wounds I've carved into my soul;
it has all just taken a toll.
i couldn't handle it any longer.

I look back down,
why can't I feel anything?
I pick up the blade one more time,
I dig so deep I can see where all my veins intertwine.
relief.
one giant exhale escapes my mouth.

I look out of my window,
& find the little kids next door playing with their dad.
I smile.
but wait...
I look down at my arms,
I stare.
& remember my scars are the only thing that people gaze at no matter what I wear.

but don't worry I'm not 'sick' again,
I just had some stuff I needed to drain.
please, don't send me back to that locked up place.
a mental hospital isn't going to fix this case.

this was the last time, I swear it.
I want nothing more than to quit.
I start to think,
I pick up the blade once more,
and begin to create a masterpiece of pain until I get to the core.
a soul wrenching pain begins to swallow me,
when will I ever be free?

what have I done?
**not again.