when last have i had a 3am kind of conversation,
with my star like emotions scattered all over the darkest parts of me,
mimicking the sky,
my moon like persona that always returns back to hiding me away.  
when last have i felt safe enough to let somebody in,
to not have visions of my vulnerability being tied to the bed after he locks the door behind him,
his voice like some sort of broken record that keeps on repeating that
"it's gonna be okay."
when last have i had a shoulder to cry on that isn't my own,
for my neck to stop worrying that the tear filled sea on either side won't get waves big enough to drown me.  
when last okay,
when last has it felt good to be me.

i cant stop writing about you
my fingers are burnt by a storm of you
not one word
one phrase
one paragraph
or one poem
could incapsulate
how i feel
the words that exist
just dont comprehend
how i feel
i will make words
i will make phrases
i will make paragraphs of a language only you and i can understand in a font unimaginable by the human brain
a language from the heart
so darling
until each memory of us is put to paper
i will not stop writing
and ****
i just cant stop writing about you

no, just go
please. keep on writing
sometimes slow
yet so inviting
I'm compelled to keep delighting
moon is full,  there's no use hiding

let the thoughts flow freely through you
open up and see what's in you
sometimes we don't know just how to
say what's meant and yet it's all true

every word is dreamlike flowing
meaning something deeper, knowing
what you need to say it's glowing
like the moon, not always showing.

so just go
please keep on writing

I guess I did what I did because I thought you wouldn't be hard to forget. Little did I know that you were the only thing keeping me together. Even in your  absence you teach me to better myself. I've learned to not take the small things for granted. Now every night I lay beneath an ocean of stars and just listen to the wind. I try to focus in on the sounds of the world, in the hopes that one day I'll find your voice.

my pills smell like a hospital
this bookstore smells like my grandma
the faint reminiscence of old memories
cloud the only five senses I own.
I start to wonder if this life is becoming idle
if this IV lining my arms is broken again.
If I have enough will to stay.
These pills smell like a hospital-
and I'm worried you will find me there someday
withered from this world I can't tolerate enough to stay.
But these pills seem to help me stay.
Remind me why I'm alive-
this smell reminds me to stay away.
When the blade calls my name I don't listen anymore
when you call my name I don't listen anymore
I've been seeing your face too often
and not hearing my own voice enough.
I start to think nostalgia and you share the same interests
like you both started a google drive document
and shared the file with me and now it's all I see.
You can edit my life for me
and no matter what I continue to write
you change the font
and reformulate my sentences.
I wish I didn't exist.
Then I smell my grandma in this empty bookstore
and feel the pages against my fingers again.
I'm here whether I like it or not.
You were here whether I like or not.
Paying too much attention to madness
and not enough to bliss
I take up too much time thinking
and not enough doing.
25mg isn't enough anymore
and each time the clock strikes 9
my mind likes to contemplate quitting you.
But I smell the hospital again
convince myself to stay away from that place.
The pill hits my tongue and travels down my throat.
I don't think anymore.
I don't want to know.
I am home-
here in this bookstore
with the smell faintly touching my nostril
with the pills lining my nose
with you writing me apology notes
that sound too **** familiar.
I wish to erase you from my retinas.
I don't want to see you anymore.
I hoped these pills would help-
but they make things more clear for me.
You're face has been all I see
now I seem to be losing me
where did I go?
where am I again?
why are you the only face I recognize?

so when you walked off into the dark in the whisper of my name
i am like dust in the dirt
i have no mass no weight nothing
just waves of pain around my heart
every passing beat is like the feeling of your hand within mine being carved by nails against a chalkboard
i was wrong oh
the heart feels,it feels everything,what it feels it pumps in the blood that walks over my skin like stale memories laced in hope
the only hope i ever knew
its been months
and i still sit and write about you.