I hate when you leave the toilet seat up
Or how you spill toothpaste over the sink
I hate finding your clothes hung over furniture
And how you sleep pushed up against my back
Radiating your heat all through the night
I hate even more waking and realizing you're gone
I still can't bring myself to erase the signs of you
It's been a hundred and twenty days since you left
A hundred and twenty days since I last saw you
A hundred and twenty days since I touched you
I remember staying up late at night
You said you'd travel to the most distant places
With or without me
I never thought you'd actually do it
A hundred and twenty days since you left
I still feel you pushed up against me at night
And I wake to an empty spot on the bed
With a matching pain in my heart
While grief is the only one I wake up to
A hundred and twenty days since your death

we sweat the small stuff and get upset
ready to deflect what we don't expect
storms spread and we get so wet
bad weather that we'd rather forget

we preset our heads to reject
whatever we don't see as correct
we've all bled and shed tears of regret
it's our necks that we try to protect

when letting two hearts connect
reverence has the better effect
it's the common threads that we neglect
instead of accepting we choose to except

and that was the moment i knew,
if this whole earth was dancing,
i would still be watching you.

you are teetering on the edge.
edge of brilliance,
insanity.
something so wonderful,
so terrible.
something that people devote
their whole lives to
putting into melodies
and words on paper
that make you want to weep.
you are numb on the outside,
but once the shell crumbles
you are a mass of fear and loathing,
stuck running endless circles in your mind.
but there is also hope.
hope, mixed with curiosity
that tinges your cheeks pink,
draws you out of bed
at the crack of dawn every morning
and keeps your heart beating
with the ferocity of someone determined to live.