I'm 23 now.
and the weight of the world is too much to bear
I want for so much, so little the air is in my lungs
never enough to breathe
nor to give life to this heart once aflame.
again, I will admit, it is withered.
dead and cold.

I'm so tired.
every plan foiled.
every stitch come unravelled,
leaving me open and naked
and easy to ****.
I am the prey -
a victim of my own life.
a victim of my own mind -
my own, selfish heart
forever screaming
forever crying out
dying on the inside.

and the broken home I came from
I built
and and I burnt it down
myself.

now, my love is homeless.

and though I wish
and beg
and pray
I cannot keep the monsters at bay.

There is no shame
in the show of color from your heart
running to meet mine,
leaping at the chance.

The contrast between
what I have, and what I need
is too plain to see.

The pain of a bed that stays empty,
more like roommates
than lovers entwined.

The ache of a heart that is longing
for yet another
that I can call mine.

One of the very rare times
that you hold me in your arms, of your own accord
I look into your eyes
and realize, in horror
that this is not enough.

you are not enough for me.

and that the hurt outweighs the laughter
and the shame outweighs our joy
and for all my tears -
every fear -

you are no longer
and have never really been
my beautiful boy.

Some days I'm okay with sitting at a desk
staring at a computer for hours on end.

Other days it's a ******* nightmare
because I have nowhere to run
when I suddenly remember how you broke
every promise you ever made.

If I could only be stronger -
shrug off the hurt
and tell myself that if I matter
so little to you,
so you should be worth nothing to me too.

How strange it is
that we will write until our pens run dry
yet we will not dare to open our mouths
when we come face-to-face with the ones we love.

How awful.

I remember the first time you put your hands on me.
I remember feeling the fire in your heart,
and tasting desire on your tongue.
I remember the way it felt to lay against you
and how perfectly our bodies seemed to fit together.
It was like we were hand crafted for one another.

do you remember?

And then, slowly
but ever certain
the fire bled out until it was but an ember -
barely glowing among the ash.

I'm so cold now.
Your body used to keep me warm.
Your breath kept my heart beating.

But now, I am alone
and I am cold
and all I have left to keep my heart humming
are these bittersweet memories
of honeymoon passion
played over and over again in my head.

like your favorite **** star on repeat.

Everything I am is too much.
I am an assault to the senses,
and no longer do I dare
to brush against your heart
for fear of an allergic reaction.

The days are becoming a blur. A sickening blend of everything and nothing. You could almost call it a bad high - if it had any of the slightest pleasure of one. I have felt too much, and now I have become too little. I have negated myself and I am a walking dream in this waking nightmare. Now if only I could remove myself from the equation.

I feel so heavy. And my bones, with rusted joints, need far too much care and coaxing to move. And I'll be honest - it hurts to stay in bed all day. But it hurts to make myself exist, too. It hurts to breathe. What is the point? How can I help anyone - how could I love anyone - when I can barely take care of myself?

I keep waiting for my knight in shining armor. I keep waiting for my true love to materialize out of thin air, here to save the day and tell me that everything is going to be alright.

I keep writing, as if it will keep me numb and from feeling.

And as much as it burns my lungs,
I keep breathing.

I keep hanging on, for some possibility of a promise that the air will clear and the sun will shine through the dust and smog, and bring me a beautiful day, and a beautiful love -  and I will wipe the mud from my face. And by the grace of god, maybe one day, I will be beautiful enough to deserve.