Laid now on his smooth bed
For the last time, watching dully
Through heavy eyelids the day's colour
Widow the sky, what can he say
Worthy of record, the books all open,
Pens ready, the faces, sad,
Waiting gravely for the tired lips
To move once -- what can he say?

His tongue wrestles to force one word
Past the thick phlegm; no speech, no phrases
For the day's news, just the one word ‘sorry';
Sorry for the lies, for the long failure
In the poet's war; that he preferred
The easier rhythms of the heart
To the mind's scansion; that now he dies
Intestate, having nothing to leave
But a few songs, cold as stones
In the thin hands that asked for bread.

I knew he was dying
I thought maybe a few weeks left
So still and so quiet
This man whose laugh made us all laugh
The man who always had ideas
Where to go, what to do for a laugh
Always a laugh
Sharer of adventures
Partner in crime
For thirty-six crazy years
Dying before my eyes and
Taking much of my life with him

He'd had a massive stroke a year earlier
They said he'd die then
But he defied them and recovered a lot
Proper conversations and learning to walk
Then they discovered that he had cancer
And here we were five weeks later
"How long are you gonna be in here?" I asked
He turned his head and looked hard at me
"I die next week," he said
As though he had an appointment

He got three days, not a week
I cried seeing him dying
But I was relieved for him when he did
Now my old friend is gone
And it's a duller world without him

                                       By Phil Roberts

i feel like the moon and the sun.
dark and mysterious.
one minute up in the sky.
and one minute cowering in the corner not being seen.
the sun takes my place.
being shiny and bright.
then all is happy.
and i am full of life.
but then the day is over and the moon comes back out to play.
everyone stares at me and says i'm beautiful.
but little do they know i'm the most dark and scary creature ever seen.
some people like me.
some people don't.
some people need a light because they're afraid of my darkness called night.
then night is over and i am sunny again.
bipolar they call this.
labeling me with a disease.
'no' i say.
'i'm just fine!'
then i go home and sit and cry.
engulfed in my darkness and in the light the next.
no one is ever there to help me be my best.
'you need help!' they all say.
then help me ******.
can't you see that i'm grey and damaged?

sitting in their room:
somebody's looking at a bunch of pills.
staring at a stack of razors.
holding a thick belt in their hand.
or just thinking, contemplating to end it all.
but then suddenly, they think of you.
your smile.
the dimple on your cheek that appears when you smile.
oh god, that beautiful smile.
your touch.
the feeling they get when your soft yet strong hands caress ex their body.
feeling like they're floating, reliving that moment.
your voice.
that sweet voice that asks, "how are you today?" & says "i love you" & "i'm sorry" when they wrong you.
that sweet, sweet voice.
sweet enough to calm monster within.
your hair.
the way it feels. how it curls up when it's wet after you take a swim.
how you hate it when they touch your hair.
your love.
the way you're willing to understand them.
even though you don't, you are willing.
someone, somewhere, could throw those pills away,
throw those razors away,
choose to adorn that thick belt on their waist instead of on their neck,
& choose to hold on.
all because they thought of you.

— @beeyroyce.

i want to know everything you feel when we're together
i want to know if you love the rain
or if you abhor it
but it doesn't matter
i will still drag you outside during a storm to dance with me
no rain jackets, no shoes, no cares
nothing but our feet, hands, and souls making splashes
and soaking ourselves
in the moment

Love is defined as a feeling of warm personal attachment or affection.
Personally, that definition pales in comparison to how I feel when I look into those capturing circles of chocolate.
How I feel when I look at that beautiful smile that sets my heart, mind, and body ablaze.
No, because I feel...
I feel a range of emotions from this interpersonal connection to this deep entanglement.
These feelings race through my heart, out both ventricles, through my arteries to deposit this tingling sensation
throughout my body like a thousand fiery red ants scrambling up and down my interior.
Is that how love feels?
Is that simply just a feeling of personal attachment?

Emotions flood my body and even deep beneath my rib cage, past those guarded brick walls..
These emotions intensify and I begin to feel this 'love' again.
That's the art of love.
Knowing that one day flowers can begin to grow in the darkest parts of you,
knowing that rare ripples exist in this world that have the ability to create waves of radiance amidst gloomy waters.
knowing that through the vehement sour thoughts of another being wrapped around you, I can still feel an interpersonal connection.

You are the one thing that means absolutely anything,
everything.
I will run my fingers over every part of you, searching for the slightest crack and pour my love into each crevice of your shattered heart.
I will love you recklessly (again),
again, I'll risk loving you wholeheartedly.
Is that the art of love?
The beauty of infatuation?

The allure of love is the desire to keep the memories tattooed to our brains,
the desire to stitch ourselves together, even faster than we're tearing apart.
It's not just a feeling of mere warmth.
The art of love is knowing that when he leaves, the flowers will be plucked as well; knowing that this can happen and still refusing to let that stop you
from pouring love into all disparate crevices despite the possibility of having a barren garden next week.
It is choosing to knit us together when we appear to be crumbling at each seam.
The beauty within love is the ability to incessantly feel even when it becomes too much.
The art of love is the ability to love when even living becomes a difficulty.

-jjss-

I'd rather be your fantasy because it's so much better than me.