Somedays I wrote words
but letters slipped away
lost beyond my grip
reaching and fetching

Somedays I wrote words
then shoved them away
uncased under the bed
searching and vexing

Somedays I wrote words
letting emotions prevail
as the cord strangled  
levelling and curling

Somedays I wrote words
presented with numbers
joints of joy and peace
trespassing and pleading

Somedays I wrote words
as a moniker hiding phases
a face on my lost arms
materialising, internalising

Somedays I wrote words
of a deep reflective past
and a sickening existence
passing days, pressing mazes

Today I don't want to hide
neither compartmentalise
nor capitalise the future
It's all the now, the me

What is this broken thing inside our chest
this thing we once called love
what weary hand did try to stitch
what eye did try see
what was beautiful

  inside of you
   inside of me

what is this thing that feels like death
that once felt like a dream
the stars that danced
inside the colors of your eyes
the blood and lust
that feed and devoured me
that storm and sea
that bridged the emptiness
between you and me

what is it that we lost
that we both once held so dear
did something die inside of me
and then in turn die inside of you
what is that we lost
that broke the love along the way
to dreams forever and now never true

and if the love was broken
then why does this broken thing
inside my chest
still love and dream of you