I know you will never see this
but I am sorry.

I am sorry for leaving you
at a rough time

I am sorry for causing you pain
for leaving you with regret that you shouldn't even feel.

You shouldn't feel anything
for this is my fault.

I am sorry.

clawing between soft sheets I find your large hands
clasping through the gaps to find my softer inner parts

little do you know I am crumbling
though I give you the power to tear
what I forbid myself
to surrender

Create art with my ****** mess.
I know you never will

It is sad that you are gone
but I am waiting,
gluing my self back together,
trying to find the bits and pieces
I've shed in this process
of stabbing and
grabbing and itching newness
of youthful closeness
and the fusion of two.

To kiss the swollen moons
of your eyes,
The feathered locks
of your hair
Your staggering
heartbeat on my palm, trembling
as the planets still move.

To hold your worn hands
The rough skin
of old fingers that have traveled so far,
countries from this ground your heavy feet now grapple.

To follow with my fingertip
the creases months have carved
and wash your edging eyes.
To draw a tear from those
dried, paper-painted
pupils, black as the night sky.

Some men are not meant to be happy, they are meant to be great!
Normal is overrated,
And true happiness, the subject of many a debate.
As far back as man, or be it extra-terrestial, the concept, outdated.

Some men will rather starve than be called fat or pale.
Some men will rather be killed than bear witness to a  false tale.
Some men will die alone, and others will die with their loved ones at bay.
Some men will try to be different, but dead bodies all decay.

All through history, Man has sought to make his life easier;
To get a lot more comfortable, by any means, quicker.
He has sought to be forever in his youth;
To seal within himself, his soul like a selection from the old juke-booth.