I live to speak and dream
And to have a lot of ***
To self observe, to criticise
The things that I know best

To run and jump and scream and cry
To make no noise at all
Listening, imagining,
To ******* and to crawl

What are the days, the things we say
Those on whom we depend
Our deepest lies, we summarise
To lovers and to friends

A heartbreak, an art work
A scowl or a smile
All tangled up, in everyday
I'll just watch for a while

we sat next to one another, neither saying a word.
i could feel your good, the blitheness of your heart,
the slight ache in your soul that begged to be heard.
i listened to a thousand sighs before you said a word,
we held each others gaze before we dared to touch hands.
and just like that we were giving, giving, giving.

i told you about my mother and her love,
how she sat me down to tell me she couldn’t see me anymore.
i told you about my father and how his love was late,
how he closed every door an ordinary l father would open.
i told you that you were the only love i saw in colors.
and as we spoke, i was giving, giving, giving.

you told me that you were ashamed of your loneliness,
how the ache in your gut came and went depending on the weather.
you told me about your family and how everyone dies,
and how the two subjects shouldn’t be said together, but usually were.
you told me i talked about death nonchalantly and sometimes you understood,
and as i listened, i knew you were giving, giving, giving.

we spoke softly of the past and eagerly of the future.
during those times i began to appreciate what was being said around me.
and i think thats how i knew i was in love with you forever,
because we didn’t need to kiss or to touch or to hold.
all we ever needed was someone to listen to our babble.
and we never did stop giving, giving, giving.

I feel sick to my stomach

As love crumbles
My own identity slipping
To self loathing and panic and hatred.

So, so broken
Shattered into to tiny pieces
That you lose in the carpet
And only find once stepped on.

There's too much finality in it all
I'm such a coward
I can't face up to it all
I can't

I'm locked in my own prison.
Stay away.
I cause myself and everyone else so much pain.
Habits need breaking,
Emotions I've been faking.
You will never really know it's me.
Because my body has me trapped.
And I will never be free.

These fingertips will never run through your hair the same way they did 192 nights ago. These olive eyes may never shine quite so bright. Snowflakes wish to rest on your eye lashes just to say hello and ask how your day is going. Stars shoot across the sky to show off their glow. They are not egotistical but they envy the way your smile radiates any room you walk into. The freckle on my left wrist matches the freckle on your right and I think when we held hands, they snuck kisses when we weren’t looking. I guess they learned from us. There’s love I want to give, not because it’s too difficult to hold onto but because I think you could use some love. The right kind of love that fills the room like apple pie on Thanksgiving. The kind that makes even the smallest amounts of distances seem like the other is a continent away. If people were continents, though, I’d be Antarctica and you’d be North America. I want to hold you like moon dust that I promised not to touch. Or maybe I’ll hold you like a star because though you’d burn a hole through my hand, you’d still always be enough for me. 192 nights ago, I looked at you like a broken promise might look at the naive victim. 192 nights have passed like everyone of those shooting stars the nights before I met you. I wished to be happy and they brought you. I was so caught up in your eyes, I guess I forgot to thank them. 192 nights have passed since I last ran my fingertips through your hair and 192 more will pass before I may even look at you like anything other than a mumbled goodbye mixed with unworthy forgiveness. 192 nights have passed and if you weren’t forced to see me everyday, you’d already have forgotten my name.