The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

When the darkness comes
and I unravel, undone,
I know only you will get me.
When I’m fully consumed
and swearing I’m doomed
I’m sure you’ll wish you never met me.

How can you give a ****
if you don’t know who I am
and all the stories that are my building blocks.
Take the time to cram,
assign roles of lion and lamb,
but apparently it’s a wolf now in these talks.

And the pictures were colour
yet all the same they seem black and white,
maybe they faded as they sure seem duller,
or maybe there’s just not enough light.

Everyone pulls away, I sadly know the drill,
it’s impossible to stay, or even just stay still.
Throwing punches and slanging slurs,
tell me is it impossible to draw a line?
I gave her a heart but she never gave hers,
I’m surprised she even wanted mine.

I’m stupid enough to keep my word
and foolish enough to keep a promise.
Dissecting and analyzing the absurd,
intelligence is the mortal enemy to total bliss.

When I was young I remember
forever being distraught
and oh so sickeningly devoted
to a new girl every year or two.
I remember believing myself
better off dead than living
in the shadow of another.
It bothered me, and broke me,
that I was never a priority
or first pick for any of the girls
I believed myself to love.

In all reality, I did not even know,
truly know, what love was.
I see now it was infatuation.
For in youth love is a pretty face,
a decent personality,
and shared laughs.
Sometimes not even all three.
Now I know love does not
have requirements,
or tiny boxes to check off for standards.
No, love is an unexplainable,
completely enveloping,
unbreakable connection and completion
that you only know when you know.
You can’t ignore it, and you can’t **** it,
God knows I have tried in every way imaginable.
But not anymore.

For while I may write, and feel,
and break apart often,
about how badly it can hurt
to love someone so much it physically pains you
and not have that solidified....
I am thankful.

It’s very easy to tell someone
“all I want is for you to be happy.”
But it is incredibly hard to mean it
when you aren’t that source.
But when I said it to you the first time,
the words rolled off my tongue
so easily, and so genuinely,
it surprised me when I thought
I could never be surprised again.

Love is finding a smile
when you have barely even glimpsed happiness, let alone taste it,
because you know a part of her is happy.
Love is stabbing yourself,
and burning yourself,
every single day and ignoring it,
to offer your hand out to her
when she needs help up.

It’s living with the knowledge
that you will never taste her lips again, or feel the warmth and comfort of her arms around you,
sufficing for dreams at best,
and finding a way to be content
to just know she exists,
and she’s safe.

My mother thanked me before she died, not for us loving her, which we did,
but for being alive and letting her experience loving us.
I always thought I knew what she meant,
but sometimes I believe myself wiser than I truly am.
But I know now, for there is nothing better
than loving someone with every inch of you, past, present and future,
and not expecting the same in return.
Love is meant to be selfless,
and I thank you for letting me feel that.
Now when I die, I know I will leave with a faint smile,
and I will give my last thought to you.

No matter how many times
I burn my hand upon the stove,
I can’t help but be completely entranced by it’s radiant and beautiful glow.
And oh god, how I need the heat it emits so effortlessly.
While I gaze at it longingly,
wishing to graze my fingers upon
it gently,
I was never strong enough to not get burned.

Within the first breaths
of the early morning hours,
I lie in the dim abyss of my room.
I can’t help but feel a cold, empty
and heavy void in the entirety of my abdomen
as I wonder
if I will ever have a chance to have
someone, or something,
know every inch of me
like my pen does.

I’m waiting in line, wasting my time
for things that won’t come, though they are mine.
Pretend that I’m fine, should I draw a line?
Don’t wish to run, but I think I’m just done.

Feelings I can’t shake, they keep me awake,
the list has increased, how much more can I take?
With so much at stake, I try not to break,
I miss the sun, but I think I’m just done.

With tired eyes
I’ll still see it through.
Exasperated sighs
in breaths I drew.
I broke the ties,
but I’ve got some glue.
Searching the skies
and looking for you.

I’m waiting so long, maybe I’m wrong
I can’t walk away; my legs aren’t that strong.
Alone in a throng, I still try to prolong,
but it never begun, and I think I’m just done.

The flowing tears
should extinguish the flame,
but it’s been years
and it still burns the same.
Doe eyes sees the fears
and treats it like a game,
then it all disappears
am I to blame?

I’ll wait forever, I’m not too clever,
passing me by, but never say never.
I can not severe this painful endeavour,
I’m always the one but I think I’m just done.

The puzzle piece was right but the picture’s wrong,
gifted with a short window but I needed long.
You know there’s no outcome I can see obtaining a win,
and your outsides are mingled with those that are in.

You can’t tell me that I’m clearly right,
I thought I was the only one putting up a fight.
You know we can’t go around in this circle anymore,
and my insides are bruised, swollen and sore.

But I’m not fit to rule, no,
I’m broken in half instead of small pieces.
I beg for each molecule to grow,
but I’m out of contracts and short on leases.
It’s plain to see the impact on me
that naturally you shape the best version I can be,
but I’m not fit to rule, no.

I’ve got strength in supply except where I need it most,
under the impression that I’m hanging on to a ghost.
For once I concur that the best things in life are free,
but my outsides keep my in from escaping.

But I’m not fit to rule, so,
I accept the disappointment with the empty hands.
Another deal that’s a cruel blow,
the hour glass; broken, but there’s no stopping the sands.
It’s plain the see the impact on me,
but I’ll continually suffer in solitary.
But I’m not fit to rule, no.

Keep on running, keep on gunning,
close your eyes and plug your ears.
Keep on running, I’m sure they’re coming,
share the skies but not your fears.