There are stories in your eyes.

I never told you how
sometimes I fell asleep
with the thought that you
were perhaps the moon-

always disappearing
with the dawn.

I can smell him on my sheets
      I can taste him in my dreams
             I can still feel every inch where he's touched me
I hear his laughter echoing in the walls
             I can still see him in all these pictures I saved for
           memories

But this bed is bare
My dream's a nightmare
       I can't hear
             His laughter
       He's not near
             Enough to touch
My eyes are blinded by tears
He's killed my senses,  
      I'm no longer aware

Everything around me,  slowly fading away
His face, his scent, his laughter,  his touch
Maybe I'll just pop a few pills and sleep away the day
At least he's in my nightmares, the pain of reality is too much

I'd give up my left arm to always be right beside her. My right arm for her to know she's what I have left and both arms to be able to hug her when's she away. I just don't think I have enough to give to get the courage to tell her when she's here.

To be what they want
Is to win a battle
To be who you are
Is to win a war

She accepted
the crayon
and drew
a transparency
to step across
the mirror.

Living on
horizons
long forgotten,
she sprang from fire,
her love affair,
a tale of fairy.

The baobabs grew,
feeding on her,
shredded the glass.
A darker night
devoured the moon,
diluted her crayon.

Then came the day after.
She rose
and drew a crayon.
She accepted lucidity
feeding on transparency.
She took a step.

jesus *******--
breathe me
inhale me fit my heart in the space between your lungs and your ribcage like it's the apocalypse
(seven hours to live at the end of the world)
press your hand against my neck,metal digging into your skin like knives
i'm sorry about the way i push my fingernails into your wrist
i just want to feel something
break the skin(seven layers and a martyr complex)and tell me what you find
i'm nobody's hero
you can only bear to look at me at night,when darkness covers my face like a shroud
i'm everybody's funeral pyre
you're an ashtray waiting to be dusted off(you never told me you wanted to be cremated)
you inhale and take a step back.choke out a weak i don't wanna die and wait for my fist to connect with your cheek,****** knuckles and a hint of desperation you won't try to stop me--
IT MAY BE DIFFICULT FOR THOSE SUFFERING FROM POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER TO VOCALIZE THEIR STRUGGLES IN A WAY THAT MAKES SENSE--
my mouth is one big bruise,sweat and tears spilling from it like blood from a wound
(the **** on my cheek;you put it there.i helped,or rather,i didn't do anything to stop you.)
THOSE WITH PTSD WILL FREQUENTLY HAVE EPISODES WHERE THEY FEEL THEY ARE RELIVING THE TRAUMATIC EVENT OR EVENTS. THEY MAY NOT RECOGNIZE YOU, BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO TRY AND HELP THEM THROUGH IT.
you pretend it doesn't break you when i ask who you are(when i tell you through a haze of remembrance that i should've died too)
you don't see the bruises snaking up my arm like tattoos,like they were always meant to be there
i guess someone should have told me that carving *i love you and i'm sorry into a bullet doesn't stop the bleeding
but i love you and i'm sorry
the human heart beats on average 2.5 billion times in a lifetime
mine was only supposed to beat 7.3 million times and i guess that's why i feel so cold all the time
take me out,a lightning bolt to the heart
(a momentary feeling of loss and then silence)
they say you can feel someone in your head after they've died
i guess it's a good thing that we were never connected, wires pretending to be veins
this is a love letter disguised as a suicide note
i know i'm not supposed to say anything but god,i love you
jesus *******--
breathe me.