it's raining and
the sky is cracking and
the clouds are growling and
all i can hear
with my ill ear
are the gentle drops of rain

the rain has broken
all the telephone wires
there is static when i try
to reach out to you
the internet died
sometime last night
and there's no way i can
speak to you

the cable was taken away and
the lights are flickering and
my phone short-circuted and
my laptop overheated and

i'm disconnected

i'm thinking back
to our last few days
and thinking of
the words i never heard
the words you never heard
when the calls dropped and
the line went numb
did you ever even hear me
when i whispered
"stay"

and i wonder now
maybe that was the problem all along
maybe we were always on the verge
of making our always into forever
and maybe our love just got stuck in

bad connection.

Give me something. Anything to quiet this feeling; this hollowness. Is this what happiness feels like? Is this what it’s like to be content?
I’m empty. I am a vast shell of a vessel that’s filled with such potential, such hope; but I waste it.
I’m wasted.
I’m wasted on the thought of you. The thought of you with someone else. The thought of being alone.
I don’t want to be alone.
It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt.
I am empty.
I don’t know how to feel but I do when you’re near and I wish that it would stop.
I want to be happy always.
I don’t want to be dependent on you for the sun to shine. I don’t want to feel as though you hung the moon. You didn’t. I did.
I’m wasted.
Wasted youth. Wasted love. Wasted space.
If this is what it is to be content; to be happy…
It’s a numb feeling.
Everything is perfect and yet…
I’m empty.
I love with a burning passion, so much so that you get torn up and scorched in the process.
It is not a slow burn it is all consuming.
It consumes me.
I’m consumed with a lonliness when you’re gone and when you’re here I yearn to feed it.
I need to feel you, I need to be near you. I need to know you’re not leaving. I need to prove to myself that this is real and that you are here and that you love me.
If I don’t I burn, my fire stays in me and it burns, it burns, it burns.
I’m overbearing.
I’ve scalded you; it’s too hot, you can’t breathe I’m smothering you and I can’t stop.
You push me away and the flames grow larger.
But when you go, the fire slowly dies out.
I’m not passionate.
I’m not a writer.
I’m empty.

No, I don't think
I have a smile
people are addicted to seeing,
and no,
I don't think
I'm your dream girl,
and no, I don't think
you'd get stuck on me.

but I do think
I'm worth your time,
and yes, I do think
I can brighten your day.
and while I have a tendency
to fall into insecure patterns,
I do happen to think
that I don't have to be pretty like them.
I can be beautiful
like me.

and I'm not the best,
but if anything,
I am beautiful like the stars.
dangerous if you edge too close,
scarred in a sense,
but whole entirely, even still.
I am strong,
lovely,
and ethereal.

I am worth every second
of the attention I so desire,
of the affection I so desire.

I am bright,
I am good,
I am sweet and kind,
and I am stronger
than I am given credit for.

I watched us burn.

I wanted to put out the flames,
but all I held was more gasoline.

That
     Flame
          You
               Lit
                    Without
                         Knowing
                    Is
               Now
           But
     Slowly
Burning

I
   Thought
          I
             Already
                   Put
                        That
                             Out
                                  Then
                             Never
                         Realized
                    I
               Never
        Really
Can