we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

no one loves me
but they claim they care
if they really did wouldn't they see

i am falling apart
fragile to the touch
yet they keep on pushing me

closer to the edge
and they think i can take more
so they push farther till i'm at the brink

it's like they know i can't swim
but they are going overboard
and they'll be suprised when i sink

I woke up from a nightmare
I could not stand to keep
to myself

you were stretched across the couch
coffee going cold on the table
a half finished cigarette
still burning

you wrapped me up
in kind words that
I could not bare
to hear

whispered into my ear
"one day we will go wandering
and this tiny house will overspill
with dreams'

you are not your memories, darling
you are not the bad things
that have been done to you
you are a fierce flame
that warms my heart

forget them, my love
they are nothing
and you, and you
are everything

You asked
What is the scariest part?

I answer
The scariest part
is not the feeling of loneliness
or the darkness that fills you
despite the looming pain
of emptiness

The scariest part
is the realization  
that you have lost yourself
completely
sinking in as you lay awake
at 2 AM
because you lost the ability to sleep
and you can't even cry
because you don't even care

I've made my heart into a well
And filled it with all kinds of hell
I've locked inside
The nights I've cried
Until it dried and became a shell

Drench me in
the sweet stardust
that falls from your lips when you speak.
I know you have a silver tongue
but I am already a statue-
if I must be rusted inside,
at least let me be plated
in glamorous lies.