life is a game and it appears i am just a toy
one of the many play-pieces others use to their advantage
and when i grow useless
too tattered to be tossed around any longer
i am discarded
until i can mend myself again
make myself whole again
make myself useful again
wash, rinse, repent, repeat
Thinking Of You

i'm left to wonder;
if i call your name again
will you answer me?

if i yell your name
will i be met with silence,
or will you appear?

if i cry your name
will you soothe me like before,
or leave me to weep?

if your name happens
to claw its way from my throat
will you make me tea?

to ease this soreness?
to rid me of this anguish?
will you add honey?

when you get a cut
and blood starts to pour from the injured area
can it be described as your life escaping you?
i feel in all the time i’ve spent breathing
i’ve spent most of it trying to bandage up
wounds that have nearly kept me from doing so
when in fact
there has been no purpose to this
no matter how i delay the process
the inevitable waits just around the corner
taunting
teasing
tantalizing
so maybe one day
i’ll grow too tired to replace these bandages
maybe one day
i’ll let the wounds run their natural course
and maybe one day
i’ll let life escape me without a fight
but until then
i’ll dress the wounds
one by one
and hold on to what i have
until what i have
becomes too much to hold

but there is nothing left to write about
i’ve exhausted all the colorful ways to describe loss
smeared yellow paint in places it shouldn’t touch
to describe this most hollow feeling
that can only truthfully be painted grey
and i feel
that if i keep writing
i’ll run out of ways to say i’m hurting
run out of poetic ways to phrase my pain
run out of ways to detach myself from this reality
run out of time and place and keep
running
until i’ve run out of what i once thought was endless

the sequins that danced so prettily around his waist
made up for the lack of stars in the light polluted sky
i feel like sometimes it’s better to be trapped in the dark
if it means that all the light in the world resides in his eyes
i never want to think of what could happen if that light went out
i don’t know if i’d be able to keep safe and sound
everything in life is tiring enough as it is
even with those reflective hues of gold
but beneath those bright irises
lies sad blues of stories untold
won’t you stick around a little while longer?

i stayed up through the night
and watched the moon get chased across the sky
and watched as the serenity of night
brought forth the bleakness of day
in all its empty whites
bitter blues
and tired greys
there’s something to be said about a sunrise
in which the sun is nowhere to be found