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Jan 2013 · 334
we (are no longer) part ii
eli Jan 2013
it is not enough to want,
is it?
we've been shown
time and again
that it is not enough
to want
to need
to try and fix
to give it one more go

to take a break--
no stop don't go i need you please
-- and to reunite, with new butterflies in the stomach

and though you held me and reassured me
that we can still be friends
("you will always be my best friend,"
you said and i believed,)
i guess it's just painful because
all my nights spent reassuring
that i loved you for and despite your flaws,
your haunted green eyes,
the way you opened up to me,
the way you became when you were upset, angry,
the strength you don't know you have--
were all for nothing.

all the while you always told me,
i'd find a man who would be better for me,
more there,
and who would treat me how i should be treated.

and i could never convince you
that you were always the best for me,
always there,
and treated me better than i ever have been.

and though i am in misery,
have not slept because you are not here with me,
have withdrawn because without you i can't seem to function,
i suppose it's better that there is still you and i,
even if there is no we.
eli Jan 2013
you told me
that you see us as
o n e
person,

"without you,
there is no me,"
you said.

i am your missing piece,

and you,
you are mine.
and without you babe,
there is no me.

every night i lie next to you
safe in your arms,
i feel at home,
at peace,
whole.

i look into your eyes
and i see
everything i have ever
wanted.
Jan 2013 · 1.8k
black hole, a haiku
eli Jan 2013
black hole in my chest,
please devour me; i can't stand
this sick emptiness
eli Jan 2013
every chord
on the nylon strings
the g the e
the c the a
sounds so exultant
so content
it masks
morose and melancholy
lyrics and rhymes;
and yet everyone can make it
sound more cheerful than
i ever could
everyone can make it
everyone can make it—
except for me

but don't tell me I never tried
i tried my damnedest and I am
still ******* trying
i am screaming hallelujah
at the top of my lungs until
asthma beats me down
until my throat feels pricked
with needles
and i will continue to play the chords
of a song describing
a futility i feel in my bones
and i will try to make them sound
hopeful, ******

because i need this
(the last verse of leonard cohen's hallelujah was originally the ending of this poem, but i figured i should leave it out to avoid plagiarism and such)

— The End —