Words are not always compiled into heart stopping love letters.

Memories do not always spur intoxicating nostalgia.

The sky is not always that awe inspiring shade of baby blue perfection.

Crayons are not always yellow.

Sometimes, they are black.

Sometimes, darkness is the ideal absence of color needed to complete the masterpiece.

You lie down in bed,
Feeling the presence of the dead,
They moan and groan,
Their fingers as cold as stone
clawing at your bare skin.

They beg for your soul,
As they now have no other after life goal,
They wish to be you,
Able to chew and to put on a new pair of shoes,
Oh so lucky you are to be alive.

They tug at your hair,
and at all the cloths you wear,
They all have grim faces,
Each from different places,
All dead,
At least that is what they said.

They want to live,
Like you and me,
They no longer want to strive,
This endless destiny.

One day they might,
Maybe even as I write,
They may just break free,
and live on for eternity,
In *heaven.

It feels like you're drowning.
Heavy weight in your chest, heavy eyes full of tears.
Longing for someone so desperately.
It feels like you're hanging on thin thread.
It feels like you're a fish with no water.

I will elaborately devise a plan to fulfill the broken parts of tomorrow.

I am but one man, with a dream of fixing broken things.

Broken things like hearts and people.

Although, I am broken.

And I can't seem to fix it.

I can’t describe the pain I feel

So I write it down for all to hear

And I can’t help but admit it’s true

That I’m losing my mind over you