we have lonely hearts,
and hungry hands,
and we want to love,
but we don't know how.
we have tired eyes,
and achy lips,
and we want to love,
but we don't know how.
we have too many thoughts
and no one to listen,
and we just want to love,
but we don't know how.
we have so much to give
and no one to take
and we will probably always be alone.
we have shaky hands
that only hold pens
and trembling lips
that only kiss cigarettes
and watery eyes
that never know how to look okay.
we are the ones you forget you raised this way,
teaching us fear
instead of how to love
or maybe just maybe we might know how.
we're the ones who make up things to believe in
to keep us going
and maybe we made up the concept of love
because we have no proof that it's real.

1470

The Sweets of Pillage, can be known
To no one but the Thief—
Compassion for Integrity
Is his divinest Grief—

Contrary to popular belief,
depression is the best pain killer there is.
It forces itself down your throat,
and canon-***** into your stomach.
Ripples chills throughout your body,
that's when you know it's starting to work.
It pulses through your veins,
numbness radiating through you.
Soon,
there is no pain.
It will consume you until there is nothing left,
just the hollow shell
of a once
happy
girl.

I remembered
I promised you a poem,
In fact one a day for our love-
There's a problem though,
I can't seem to get them out:

   Because your presence
   Is like a million words,
   A thesaurus sitting right
   Next to me,
   And what you are to me
   When you are with me is an
   Eternal sonnet.
   But when I tried I began to
   Understand something that brings
   My understanding of us clearer,
   That we are the same in separate
   Places, in the same solitude
   Without knowing each other's
   Pain or fatigue.
   That we are both not people,
   But the wind freed in our selves,
   A gale freed from the conventional
   And we become a sudden verse,
   Nostalgic and naive,
   Stubbornly young and hopeful,
   There in that place,
   When we are together,
   I cannot write the poem
   That has not yet finished
   Being written.