I write of great loves I’ve never had and heartbreaks I wish had never been

It’s a beautiful dance we engage in, an intricate illusion to be sure
                                                 the most becoming coming of age fairytale,
It’s a stunning tale to behold
                                  one of truth, of love, of something better than we held before
                       the threatening reality pushes us to determinately cling, trying to grip the memory of what was
watching it slide in a strikingly sorrowful manner down our hands caressing our veins, teasing our life, as the tomorrows cease to be bright and our womb life before living is our finest delight
              It was the once real hope who’s skeleton we now masquerade about attempting to replenish the life it once held, it was progress for something other, someone other than ourselves.

If I could always feel the wind on my eyelids; feel moved like the leaves; sadness would be a distant memory, never reality.

I am not the leaves, she thought, I am not a leaf. The wind stopped, refusing to be her distraction.

I am a series of pieces learning to be whole; human.

'These feelings always throw me off -- you never cared' she howled to a God she didn't trust.

Ah, but the feelings are meant for people and pieces have a way of fighting just right, given time. I love you now, always have, always will the wind whispered.

She cried.

A collection of pieces, free to do as they please, residing in this one life together, not alone, but lonely.

The tears fell.

When I make the right sequence of choices I get here, my safe place where all the valves shut off and thoughts float through, without lies, pretension or hope

I want the vices
I wanted him
I like the hunger it gives me the numbing and the numbing turns everything dark
   but with a flicker of a browned red, you could miss it if you've never stayed here, in the satisfying pain. You can live any life here; mother, lover, CEO, or happy because nothing really gets in
                                            and no one really cares to notice
and solitude becomes always, not just when alone
skin explodes with the tingle of a touch that won't ever come

desire wanes, and dreams extend to the dried blood red where there is a hope of home but expectation of morning, which feels impossible and hellish
  just the right amount of pain
when it gets to be too much you just turn another valve off

it'll pass or you'll die trying and either way you win; the sweetest taste, darkness embraced

She talked of prison pipe dreams
                                  of England accents found in adventures in far off land that would act as armor
    for the inside where the sadness takes root and smothers hope; the seed of which resides in us all

                                 She'll never go now - the years have passed by and bars built and hold her here
  I swelled with a mixture of guilt and joy, having lived her dream and withholding it from her now, still

   the weight of unclaimed dreams and moments never experienced tore at my heart so I numbed it through self-inflicted deprivation; refusal to add fuel to the chamber, going on days now


oh baby, make it hurt so good
sometimes lives don't live like they should
make it hurt so good

The trouble with love
       is that we only have one definition
  the trouble with life
         is that we only get one shot

and the trouble with you is that you're unlike anyone else I've ever known
     I will never forget you
          even if I want to
The trouble with me is I crave you
                         your eyes, face, soul
                                    especially soul

and I envy her
       especially her
   for being with you

the trouble with us is that we were never supposed to connect like this
             it complicated everything
                                  at least for me

I see your face on stage, eyes locked for only a moment here or there but my face flushed
      because in your music you bare your soul
   and I knew then that I loved you                                    but the definition's hazy and because of that
                                                            ­   i'll never tell you
   because you're happy with her
                           and if you're happy well, then my love,
I must let you go

In the name of health I stopped bandaid-ing with busyness
      with food
          with spending
               with caffeine
                   with you
and it stripped me raw
        back to a preteen self before the trauma really came
and a preteen me after the waves hit
                                                           year after year of desperation soothed by self medication

Exposed without crutches I find a dull pulse of someone who wishes to be rotting
      because to rot suggests life and I feel like a statue in pieces  that never meant much of anything to anyone
   not even my creators

          counting hours down without anything to count to; afraid to live like I was and afraid to exist like I am

I'm taking my courage with what little grace I can offer and I'm giving into faith, the Father.