words. poetry. art.
I used to believe that poetry needed to have a steady even flow
That it needed to tumble out and down like water in a stream
moving and moving and moving
constantly
consistantly
but
I realized
that words
  and
art
can be
    chunky
        blocky
there can be pauses
...
and spaces

and things can be repeated without needing to be

I'm gone all the time now.

Not all the time.

But it feels like all the time.

I think I'm here
And I'm doing things
And then I **** back into focus
And I've been gone a long, long time
Where did I go?
Why can't I feel when I start slipping away?

I can only feel when I'm pulled back to the surface
And not when I begin to sink
But I don't go anywhere.

But I'm gone.

I'm gone.

You say I betray you
I want to protect you
Life doesn't come with a manual
I don't know what to do
I'm trying so hard
To see underneath
But you stack on layer after layer
Each time I dig deeper
I find more of your hurt
each time I dig deeper
You hurt me some more
Broken people do that sometimes
It is hard
but it must be done
if not by me
then who?
I'm very tired
It hurts to keep going
will I stop?
Only for the night
But when the sun rises
So will I
to keep digging
to find you
and pull you to where
I hope you'll be safe
Forgive me
For losing you in the first place
little sister

Dreams, once strong and true
Wither away as I scroll
Why did I want this?