is love defined by the presence of lust?
if his fingers slide up my thigh,
is it love if i combust?
if the ecstasy makes me cry,
and he begins to ******,
can my feelings run high,
if his love comes with lust?

I wanna hurt
I wanna bleed,like they always do
Lay me down where the trees bend
low
Lay me down where the greenery stings
So I can feel
So I can remember
That to love me
Is to suffer me

forgive me for my desperation,        
but i yearned for him like no other.        
and if this deep longing is my damnation,      
oh, please let me be his lover.

my eyes trained to the picture you left up on your shelf,
back when my heart had only started to blossom.
but the only person you loved most was yourself,
which is now the only thing we share in common.

To my friend, Magnolia:

Losing someone you love never gets easier with time.

If you lose them young, all those unanswered questions will **** you.
if you lose them later, everything you know about them will.

To say grief fades with time
is to suggest love was never real.
Because how can someone
no longer here
still be part of the story?

How can they be the exposition, the rising action, the ******, the falling action, and the resolution all at once?

How can they keep haunting the narrative?

Time makes no promises.
Not happiness,
not closure,
not even peace.

But love does.

There will always be enough love
to make this pain bearable.

The sum of what you have lost
and what you have yet to find
will be your only salvation.

And you will be loved, Magnolia.

because even now,
you are capable of loving
someone that has been and ever was.

You don’t have to rise like the sun each day—
some mornings, it's enough just to open your eyes,
to sit with the silence,
to feel your heartbeat and whisper, “I’m still here.”

You are not the storm that passed,
nor the ruins it left behind.
You are the seed under the soil,
waiting for the right rain,
the quiet miracle of a soul not giving up.

Let no one shame the pace of your healing.
Let no voice drown out the hush of your trying.
Because surviving is not small.
And breathing, on hard days,
is a kind of bravery the world forgets to praise.

So rest, dreamer.
You don’t need to shine tonight.
You just need to stay—
soft, alive,
and wildly worthy of tomorrow.

Guilt held me by the throat,
narrowed eyes filled with unshed tears,
as i clawed at the fingers blocking my airway.

Spectators say i should turn to faith,
for how could i not believe in the graceful intervention of a higher power,
in a crime that claimed the lives of so many,
in a crime that left just one.

I do not wish to be involved in His plan,
this miracle they speak of is far too unforgiving.

The fingers around my neck unclenched,
and my arms fall to my sides in resignation.

"You will live with me forever,"
Guilt whispers into my ear.

I shook my head and opened my mouth,
begging for forgiveness, for justice,
but no words escaped my throat.

Grief gives me a long stare,
unsure about approaching me.

“How can i apologize for the crime that claimed the lives of so many?”
I asked in desperation.
“How can i apologize for being the only one?”