Everything I touch,
Feels like a memory,
Of when you touched me,

Can I ask why you're still here,
Cluttering my mind,
Dominating my thoughts,
And making my body ache with longing,

Touch me,
Or walk away,

The choice is yours,

But I have no choice,

You have burrowed yourself under my skin,
And I can't find a knife sharp enough to,
Dig,
You,
Out.

How do you tell someone
how much they mean to me
how much i care
and love even through an old broken heart
  how do you tell someone
how special they are to me
the friendship is  cherished and very dear
how do you tell someone
i can ***** up big time
its the only way i learn to do things right
how do i tell some one  
their trust in me is golden
sacred
how do i tell some one
i learned to never make a promise
because more  gets broken than  just the promise
how to i tell a friend i still need  and want our friendship

(I left the poem unfinished)
How do i tell someone
I love them with all my heart
with out ruining their livesand relationships.
How do i tell them
Thank You
and im sorry i broke the promise and your heart..  

by alanspivey -

Dear You,

The universe can sometimes become too playful. It let’s you experience things that you wouldn’t want to experience, just for the plain reason that you must be able to feel the pain or the pleasure of it. You meet certain people in your life for certain reasons; some people that you don’t intend to meet and yet they suddenly become an extraordinary person in your life. Some you can keep, and some that you would just have to let go. You might think of it as something that generally *****, but it’s doesn’t **** really. It’s the universe’s way of showing you of what you might miss if you decide to prolong that exhilarating feeling, that it will somewhat bring awe, anxiety and even death – death of something that you wish would last for a lifetime. Because in life, you have to make decisions, you have to make choices, and those are facts that you cannot change. What is important is that at the end of the day, you don’t feel any regret for all the things that you did – intentionally or unintentionally. You might not want to admit this but, for that moment in your life, you felt high, you felt alive, you felt happy, you felt real, you felt wanted, and you felt loved.

If by any chance, you would want to make a rewind of every little memory just because you feel like it deserves a proper conclusion, don’t. It is a terrible idea; it may even be the worst thing that you would ever do to yourself, to your life. Because in life, there are no rewinds and there are no playbacks. We just have to move forward, forget a little maybe and learn to forgive, most especially if it’s yourself that you would want to forgive.

All the best,
Your own self

Don't revisit old love,
There's a reason that it didn't happen,
Maybe you were too young, maybe you lost compassion, maybe it lost it's magic but it's something you should never go back to,
Especially if it hurt, especially if it ended with words that destroyed self esteem and composure and taught you to learn how to thrive by yourself, without the touch of their skin, without the feel of their lips, without the worry of how their drinking is affecting their health, and the way they react, and the way you react to how they injure themselves,
So climb away when its over and they've left you on your knees, after attacking your ribcage while you ask them to stop and you plead that this lacks meaning and you've torn us apart, caring too much for pointless opinions and not enough for what fell asleep in your arms,
And my body is caving, from all the disdain and the way that I linger on things that have faded, I'm jaded and faking the smile on my face, while I'm really just sick, no I'm twisted up like vines but I'm rotting, and rotting my mind with thoughts and reactions that stem from chemical distraction,
I'm laughing but really it's an act, I'm alone now, and that's okay, I think I'll keep it that way.

Don't go far off, not even for a day
Don't go far off, not even for a day,
Because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
And I will be waiting for you, as in
An empty station when the trains are
Parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
The little drops of anguish will all run together,
The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
Into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve
On the beach, may your eyelids never flutter
Into the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me for
A second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll
Have gone so far I'll wander mazily
Over all the earth, asking, will you
Come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.