I need something to set fire to my inhibitions
so that I may run away again
void of that guilt of all I leave behind.
How can I cut ties
whist knots are still so tangled?
How can I burn all bridges without the fire consuming me?
**** it,
let's torch it,
burn it all to the ground.

You left me thinking that these are the moments we see in a flash immediately prior to exhaling our last breath.

You were my very first memory, as far back as it goes.
Playing in the grass of the backyard, the day we brought you home.
Through the years, you became such a constant source of love.
Our long walks kept me sane, helped me find much needed clarity, for years, and years.
16 years, you were on this earth, a long, loving life.
When I met you in the vet's office for one final goodbye,
You looked up at me through foggy cataract eyes and strained to wag  your tail.
I'll never forget that last look you gave me,
so loving,
so peaceful.
You were ready.

"Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."

Rest in peace Mocha dog.
I will always love you.

I want to tell our story like I thought it to be,
though I know it'd be more romantic than the reality.
There is still a part of me that wholeheartedly believes I'll never quite get over the idea of us as lovers.
Though I know that time heals all wounds, our hopeless infatuations will cease, and one day I will forget you.
I wanted to give you everything,
though I never could give you myself.
We both knowingly built our home atop a foundation bearing so many deep, deep cracks,
though we watched it crumble, together, hand in hand,
and it was so very peaceful.
You held me whilst I sobbed the moment I finally put an end to our romance.
And the kicker is, I had never felt so close to you as I did in that instance.
I loved you,
though I never told you.
And you loved me,
though we never had a chance.

There is a woman, trapped,
Secluded in a dark room,
no windows,
the only door is barricaded
locked tight with bolts and chains and nails and things of the like.
She is sitting
curled up
eyes shut
with her hands over her ears
pretending
hoping to not exist.
She is brilliant
but despondent
she is beautiful
however hopeless
intellect and adroitness trickle softly from every pore.
She resides within the confides of my mind
and every fiber of my being is pushing
with everything I've got
to force her out.
To share her with the world.
To tell her story
so that I may grow old
knowing that I
have been vulnerable.
That I have proven my humanity
my capability to feel and be felt.
Come out now, darling
No, it will never ******* be safe
but I think it may just be worth it.
Because I am running out of ways to tell people that
I am not okay, but that is somehow okay.

I want to write
like music makes me feel.
So strong, so profound,
meaningful and free.
I wish to experience life
like a cinematographic masterpiece.
Every detail precariously perfected.
Every color, every scene, flawless.
I want to view the world
like a surrealist's painting.
Abstract, and pleasing,
Intriguing,
knowing there's more than meets the eye.