we adore her.
we worship the Moon
but we forget that
it is the Sun that
shines for her
and lets her
steal the show
every night.

-May Colde

Im not really dead yet.
My chest rises and falls.
The breath escapes from my lungs, the air curls into ghosts of you.
Empty I loves as icy as your heart.

I won't be planning a funeral.
Doctors won't be pulling a sheet over my head.
There is life between my rib cage, it beats soft like a cats swishing tail.
There is life here, im apathetically not dead.

There is life here but not like with you.
Memories are haunting, like craving for water alone in the desert.
There is no LIFE here, only the stillness you left.

Kissing with your eyes closed is a fine line.
Kissing with your eyes open is creepy.
It's seen as insincere and unnatural.

But you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
And if I ever got to kiss you I fear I'd have to sneak peaks so I know I'm not still dreaming.

These wishes and ponderings belong to a broken heart.
My cracked lips and tear reddened eyes know better.
My dear heart and hands, they're begging you to let this go.

Let him go. Release me.

Is this what writers do?
Lure their readers to a false sense of security?

You know that I'm in love with you.
So you, with insincerity, play my heart strings like poetry.