Walking on glass, no aid has been offered.
Crying loud over my sorrows, the closest ones tend to hear it all from a distance.
Blank expressions, empty conversations, all to make up what is a called a connection.
Weights on the shoulder dragging it all down, but a foot to the head doesn’t seem so heavy.
Uplifting others, bringing the mind to the clouds, yet the hands of which were brought up, do not give some in return.
Do not expect, for which disappointments are made.
There is no obligation for any type of aid.

I caught the lack of sincereness that strung in between the words you put together and so called named an apology.
I remember the thin line of sympathy you tossed over as I overflowed the text box with my thoughts.
The way you so gracefully let go of it all, I was the feather in the wind.
As you tugged along the scrap of a string we called our forever, I wrapped myself up with what you threw away.
I tied together all the good things that lived within me and put myself together. Alone.
Everyday was a better day.
I sunk into my solitude and prospered like no other.
To think that we were suppose to be forever, to imagine that this thing we had going on would be thrown into the dirt like this.
Everything that gets put down into soil, evolves into what it is meant to be.
I am meant to shine, and you were only the beginning of one-sided growth.

Never have I seen so much hatred in the eyes of the man who was the reason I opened my own.
Never have I seen so much fear in the eyes of the women I once saw as the strongest warrior.
In this house is where I lay my thoughts, but it will never be called home.
Isolation is my home, rarely does one ever knock.
To sit here and have comfort in the orange painted walls and meaningless decor, is a feeling that’ll never be encountered.
Looking through the window and into the grey sky, birds swift with the wind, and I too wish to able to fly away from the grey that is my life.
In my bed, I dream of sleep,
my death without such commitment.
But yet I stay, yet I fight and yet I manage to be all that is my beliefs in what is meant for one, will be.
I am meant to soar higher than my bedroom ceiling.
I am meant to be a strong as my will of not turning the other way.
I am meant to be something more than what is perceived of my lack of disciple and neglect for settling.
I am meant for better.
Given these eyes by the man who now hates me,
they shut, while my mind still at work.
I’m the warrior my mother wished me to be, and now she is in envy of what she could not see in me.

But I think what hurt the most is when you said " you deserve better " and walked away.
Because from my point of view, I was looking at better. I was looking at the reflection of my happiness.
Viewing you as the best, as the better, yet you couldn't see it for yourself.
The shadow that stayed behind me and kept me going, completely vanished.

But I know what you're going through.
I know that it hurts.
I know that the pain is breathtakingly exhausting.
I know.
I know that your lungs give out everytime you scream their name, internally.
The shades of sadness you wear are now thicker than the blood your heart would bleed out everytime the image of the future with them was at an edge.
I know that everytime you look up from the grey gravel you drag yourself upon, a strike is ran within your nerves because you can no longer love with your eyes anymore.
I know that although you weren't the one that brought it all to shambles, you hopelessly imagine that they will open up the curtains within them that restrained them of the love you had to offer.
I know.
I know that breathing around them after it has ended is the most dramatic difference because for so long, the love you both shared was formed in the most  synchronized pattern.
It was all you knew.
I know it gets better from this point on,
But I also know that the urgency to chase after them is still pulsating within you.
Right now, it is all darkness, but you have yet to encounter the light.
I know.
Soon you will too.

Death strolls around my mind everyday, just in time for it's graveyard shift. Wandering through the depths of my issues, relinquished from the unsustainable leash my emotional tactics can't seem to keep her under. Every night, she walks so gracefully over non realistic events and makes herself the outcome. She wears the sharpest heels known to man yet is careful on which nerve she lands on that specific day. Some days , my body aches of chills, some days I'm electrified with the heat of a burning sensation, imagining the what if's. She feeds off of me, chipping away at sanity.

There I was, presuming in one of my guilty pleasures.
Letting the words on a page create in imagine in my mind, my own imagines.
It's the biggest reason why I enjoy, what I enjoy, I get to involve myself with another woman's work and make it come together.
There I was, when I felt something but that wasn't what was new.
The process of having all those words be gently put together as it creates a story, always made me feel some type of way.
But this time, it was the essence of Deja-vu flushing over me that moved my attention elsewhere.
It was a sorrowing tone.  

How come I'm always able to see the good in someone, ways they are never able to view me?
How can I separate the flaws and obscurities of an individual, to take them for who they are, when they don't take the chance to know who am I truly am.
I notice those things.
I notice everything.
There is this content-ness living inside of me.
Helping me, exhale the calm air.
With that, I have the ability to feel right and wrong.
Last night was the preliminary example.

About last night.
No one is able to surprise me.
I'm too familiar with lies and signs being thrown at me.
With that being said, I can't even surprise myself. I know me, too well.
As we sat there, we had an empty conversation.
It was like we were talking to ourselves, only with question marks at the end for the other to answer.
A conversation so meaningless, I can't seem to remember.
Body language was spoken and it told me, he wasn't the only. Not even close.
Funny though,
At some point I was all about feeling too much, all the time, and now?
I feel nothing.
I even forget about how our eyes met for a split second because although they traced back to each other, I didn't feel the lust we had pulling us to anything closer.
I guess that is all we could be.
That is all we would ever be.
Lust.