I have found a million ways to say "come back"
but none of them seem to bring you back home.

I have fallen into the rhythm of goodbyes.
The steady beat of feet against tile
the sound of slamming doors and
echoing walls.
See, the worst part
is the silence that follows.
The all-consuming ringing that coats your ears
and kisses down your spine.

Loving him was like hearing
every goodbye I've ever heard
all at once.

"I can't do this anymore."

I have fallen into the rhythm
of unrequited love.

they told me to write when it hurts
when everything comes and goes
in blinding speeds,
smeared visions of
reds
blues
golds
grays.

they told me to write when I felt
so i'm here to write,
to pour myself onto paper
too white to bear
too innocent to corrupt
too fleeting to capture.

they told me to write about life,
about how things fall apart
as they come together,
about how it feels to drown in myself.

i'm here to tell you that life is some ****.
it's the weight on your ankles,
the anchor pulling you down,
but it is also the life preserver
that brings you back up.

life will rise and fall and continue on
and it'll hurt like hell most nights
but it is beautiful in its madness
so get up, and write.
write when it hurts.
write when  you feel.
write about your life.
write about you.
write.
write.
*write.

i stay chasing spectrums of red wine
splattered across white rugs
and messy lipstick stains
streaking collar bones.

i stay chasing the rush of new lovers
that fill my bed long enough
to make me forget
but never long enough
to keep me from remembering

i stay chasing pain
pain that blinds
me with its darkness
because its better
to hurt than to feel
nothing at all

i stay chasing your silhouette
crashing my feet down
onto fleeting pavement
hoping to gather your
pieces before they float
into the darkness of the night

i stay chasing your light
because since you left
*shadows are the only things
that remain

I am the stillest kind of chaos
I am the fullest kind of empty

I am

I am 4am 911 calls
I am soft poetry bouncing off peeling walls

I am I am

I am taut skin stretched over overworked knuckles
I am a kaleidoscope of tasteless adjectives scattered
over the ashes of your past lovers

I am I am I am

I am a mess,
a jumbled figure of a person
you've long forgotten
I am not myself

*I am I am I am...I am not

you can't be everything I need.
"you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party."
truth be told, most days i am 4am 911 calls and ambulance rides spent thinking about my eulogy and the look on your mother's face when she hears the news.
I am wild-haired and hollow-eyed.
I am not what I thought I'd be.
I never noticed abandoned buildings until I became one.
I am watered down whiskey and second hand smoke floating into corrupted lungs.
I am not what you need.
I am lethal, a poison you'll never forget the taste of.
"all the flowers in my dreams smell like you."
you'll remember me in 20 years as your kids run around the kitchen and one of them remarks at the sunset.
you'll remember the girl you loved all those years ago.
the girl that loved sunsets and 2am coffee.
you'll remember the girl that mourned whatever she could but never herself.
the girl that saw herself through jaded lenses and never truly fell in love with her own consciousness.
maybe then you'll see the cracks I left in your pavement.
you'll see the way I drained you,
the way I chipped away at you until you were left bleeding, exhausted, the marks of your clawing fingernails forever imbedded on my locked door.
I used to ask you why you loved me and you always replied with, "we've been over this."
do you know why I kept asking you that?
well it's because I want you to tell me that you love me because I never became a news headline of teenage promise gone wrong.
I wanted you to tell me that you loved me because I was stronger than you could imagine.
I am falling apart at the seams but I wake up everyday and I get out of bed just like you tell me to.
I am losing my battles but I am still fighting my war.
I want you to tell me that you love me because I survived.
I survived the flood and I swam my way back up.
some days you are the hand pulling me up
other days you are the rocks in my pockets pulling me down to the ocean floor.
but I guess that's what love is.
so tell me dear,
*"why do you love me?"

thing often fall apart
the same way
they came
together

like water filtering through my fingers,
you escaped my memories.
i can't quite remember the sound of your
voice whispering my name,
or the sound of your laugh over the roar
of the wheezing car engine.
i can't quite remember the color of your eyes
and on good days, i don't feel your touch
linger longingly on my skin.

but at night, when i'm laying in bed
running my fingers over the your old spot,
i feel it all rush back to me in sporadic bursts.
the scent, the sound, the touch, the very essence of you
fills me to the brim and i can't hold myself together.

i figure it's just as hard to forget
as it is to remember.

i have been searching
for happiness
in lipstick stained
wine glasses and hazy
smiles underneath the sheets
of strangers that roughly
resemble you.

i've learnt that we're not as sad
as we are lost.
because there's a part of me
that seems to have lodged itself in you
and now i've convinced myself
i'll never get it back.
so i go around
and fall into the beds
of strangers that smell like you,
or laugh like you,
or have your eyes,
because maybe if i look hard enough,
i'll find that piece of myself again.

but every morning is the same
filled with shame laced with fuzzy sunshine
filtering through the hastily closed blinds.
and every night is the same
filled with crippling emptiness
pouring out in fleeting poetry
and labored breathing.

i would be a liar if i said it didn't hurt
because let me tell you,
falling in love with you
was like swerving into oncoming traffic.
but i still don't regret it.
and if you were to show up on my doorstep,
I'm sure i'd rip out my heart
and hand it right back to you.

i guess i never learn.

i am tired of building
my home in the arms
of strangers that vaguely
resemble your outline.

some nights i want to disappear
into the white sheets of a bed
that no longer remembers the scents
of lovers with hurried breaths
and trembling fingertips

other nights i lay awake
looking out of the frosted glass
into the world i'm supposed to be a part of
and i remember what you said to me
that night before you left.

"you're so detached from everything"

i realize now that you loved me
wholeheartedly.
but it was me that was like a broken clock
constantly ticking away at seconds
that had passed eons ago.
i was always the girl that lived
in her fading memories
and i didn't realize how deep
in my own head i was
until the door slammed shut
in your wake.

i realize now that you can't
really love someone
as much as you can miss them.
i'm a shell of the girl you once knew
and i don't blame you for leaving
because if i were in your shoes,
i too, would leave the girl
with hollow eyes
and whispering poetry.

there is no beauty in pain.
i know that now.

Today I learnt that after the Big Bang,
there was antimatter,
the mirror image of matter.

Antimatter and matter
destroyed each other when they met,
thus they annihilated everything in their path,
and the universe was left almost empty.

And I thought about how your touch
against my skin,
brought the same catastrophic destruction.
And the universe inside of me,
was left in pieces,
only to be visible through
vacant eyes and
unfinished poetry.

In your wake, you left pieces of you
embedded into my skin,
jagged scars of memories
I tried to claw out of my bones.
You tore at my skin with your spitting words
yet I held you close during your goodbye.

"We are opposite poles of a world
I long to know."

You were beautiful,
and I was never
brilliant enough.

And just like that,
you leaned over the steering wheel
and held the universe together.
Like it was the most natural thing to do.

1:35 am
in the indigo infinity of the night,
i could've loved you better.

2:18 am
between the folds of the sheets
and the ache in my bones,
i warmed you from the inside out.

3:46 am
we are two stars,
unable to put our words into
constellations.
we will be our own downfalls.

4:28 am
you pull my hair and tell me
you love me in-between the groaned pants
and one day, underneath the cracked lips
and trembling hands
i'll find the courage to say it back.

5:19 am
i am the inferno that'll burn
your paper heart down
and when you're left with the ashes,
you'll see just how much of yourself
you gave to the girl with the sleepy eyes
and bruised knuckles.
i am sorry.

6:21 am
like the morning sun,
i'll rise to fill you with warmth
but i will have to set again.

7:34 am
"i can't hold your universe together."
*-H.K

I fell in love with the way you
leaned over the balcony
railing and held
the universe
together

Lately I've come to see
that the reason behind
the empty journals
and blank pages
lies within the hollow sound
of my barely beating heart.

Because if we're being honest,
and we are,
I felt you drifting away
from a forever we laced together
with sunshine
and lavender scented sheets.
And the worst part is,
all I could do was watch
as you floated from my arms
into hers.

And with my dull brown orbs I was no match
for her electric blue ones.
I guess we're meant to lose some battles,
but every time my phone rings,
a part of me wishes it was you,
calling me to tell me
that you missed me as much as I missed you
and I swear,
I would rip out my heart
in the blink of an eye
and hand it right back to you.

Because truth-be-told
I'm tired of being numb.
I'm tired of trembling hands
and blank canvases
on stifling summer nights.
So if I could be by your side,
if even for a minute,
I would give up everything,
I would run back to the small forever we shared
to feel whole again,
to feel anything again.

But my phone will not ring
and my heart will not feel
until I find something
that lets me heal.

So for now,
this is our goodbye.

we are celestial bodies,
separate entities
pulled together by the
scent of lilac sheets
and hazy sunshine.

inhaling the words
i exhaled,
his decree was
to heal the wound
i spent so long stitching up.
but somewhere
between the flowery sheets
and warm sunshine
he'll be my downfall.

but i don't regret
ever letting him
reach deep down
to pull out the girl
that once smiled at sunsets
and laughed like hummingbirds.
because of him,
i have learnt that letting go
is something i might have to do,
but the journey to the top of the mountain
was beautiful.
and the man that brought me there
was even more lovely and lonely.

Take her to your grave.
Take her to the place where
you buried memories of a past
that still chokes you up on
rainy days,
much like the one she left on.

Kiss her as you make love,
so that she can see the deepest part
of your heart,
the ugly side that makes you shiver
with the realization of just how much you have lost.

You are in love with a girl as bitter
as the rawest parts of you,
but believe me,
on the outside she's absolutely breathtaking,
completely divine.
But once you're covered in crumpled sheets
and messy pasts,
she'll melt into the cracks in the foundation.
Because you see,
she's lost just as much,
if not more,
than you have.

With loss and sin laced into her bones,
she is toxically beautiful.
You'll crave her sly smile in your bloodstream.
You'll crave the feeling of exhilaration dancing across
exhausted limbs expressing the idea of love
but never quite encompassing its true breadth.

She's deadly
and dangerous,
but you'll let her in.
They all do, eventually.
Because, with her big brown eyes,
and trembling fingertips,
you'll love her deeply.
But she'll leave you with the hollowness
of false salvation.
The darkness will come,
and when it does,
she won't be there to watch the tide turn.
But you'll love her anyways.
They all do.

I've been waiting for the dark to come,
and if you're quiet enough,
I'll take you to my grave.
Then maybe you'll see the ugly parts of me,
left behind by old lovers
whose flames burned too bright,
whose voices were too loud for my ears.

If you stay,
I promise to look within the girl
veiled behind secondhand smoke
and bruised knuckles.
I promise to dust off my cobwebbed heart,
and make room for you within the shallow waters
of my soul.

If you stay,
then maybe the tide will finally turn.
Maybe dark eyes will finally become divine.
So for the sake of science
and faith,
will you stay?

I spent the fall
writing poems about how
to get over the hole in my chest.
And I, honest-to-god, burned them all
in a rickety old fireplace
because I no longer wanted to hold onto you.

I cried over the ashes.

I spent the winter
pouring myself into wine glasses
and falling into the beds of strangers that smelt
of stale smoke and memories
of the people that once completed us.

I don't know if I miss you,
or
if I miss the girl I was when I was with you

I spent the spring
drowning myself in a boy
whose hazel eyes reminded me of yours
and whose hands fit perfectly around my waist
and, if I was drunk enough,
and sad enough,
between his ***** sheets,
I could hear your voice whispering my name.

I broke his heart unapologetically,
just to know what it'd be like to
be on the other side.

I spent the summer
in a white-washed building
that was supposedly meant to make me less sad.
But I've learnt that there are no sanitariums
that can erase memories.
So I'll sit here,
listening to songs about getting better,
in hopes that one day,
I'll get there too.

I went to a wedding last Saturday,
and I drank cheap tequila at the open bar
until I couldn't quite remember my name.
The bride's family called me a mess,
and I laughed because you said the exact same thing
when you walked out the door of my apartment for the last time.

From what I remember,
the ceremony was beautifully
arranged with accents of gold and ivory
and I cried as the vows were read,
not because I thought that they were especially poetic,
but because somewhere at the bottom of my purse,
I have a crumpled restaurant napkin
with the vows I wrote for you while we were tipsy on date night.

You see,
I look for parts of you in everything,
and I think that's my biggest problem.
I am destroying myself in an attempt to hold onto you.
Maybe if I become less of a mess,
you'll come back to me.
But for now,
I'll continue to get drunk at open bars
in an attempt to forget about the girl
that had her heart broken by her forever.

And in the silence between the songs in my head
and the words that I left unsaid,
I am unsure about whether I'm sad about the person I once was,
or the person I have yet to become.

I was a vagabond,
in desperate need of stable standing
and you were the sun,
brilliantly destructive,
but essential.

Within my fevered limbs,
and trembling hands,
you will find my universe.
The universe I built out of
secondhand smoke,
messy poetry written to sad songs,
and you.

Somedays, I wonder if my world stopped revolving
in the absence of you, my dear.
Because in my need to save my pride and
to hold onto the little dignity I had left,
I left you slip through my fingers.

You shined with a brilliance unknown to me.
And just like the moon pulls her glow from the sun,
I pulled my light from you,
so I guess it's meant to be that we move on
and revolve
in the absence of one another.
Meet me under the next eclipse.

You were my sun.
*You will always be my sun.

somewhere between secondhand smoke
and watered down whiskey,
you will find me.

you'll find the girl that exists in between
what was said but not meant,
and what was meant but not said.

they told me love was a losing battle
but i still poured every ounce of my being into you.
now i'm left with scattered fragments of the person i once was.

love is a losing battle,
and my weapon of choice will always be the double-edged sword.
because i would always rather watch myself bleed rather than
have you suffer.
so this is me,
bleeding out
emotions i no longer have the capacity to feel.

i hope it's brighter where you are.

Yesterday, I went out to a party
for the first time since we broke up.
And I saw you,
with your tongue down someone else's throat.
I spent the night drowning myself in cheap beer
and falling into beds of strangers that smelt
of regret and forgotten memories
of the people we once loved.

I drove home at dawn,
the road lines swerving and dipping,
and I never saw that truck coming.
The pain was blinding
and as my chest hit the steering wheel,
my lungs collapsing and heart bursting,
I thought of the first time you kissed me.

Tender and sweet,
it felt like my heart was exploding.
Ironic, isn't it?
How death,
and falling in love
feel the same?

"It's better to burn out than to fade away."

*This is my way of burning out.

I am in love
with a heart
that forgot me.

I found an old sweatshirt of yours under my bed yesterday,
and I spent the day crying over a box of your memories
that I don't have the courage to throw away.
The days pass by at the speed of light,
but nights are spent endlessly heaving out old promises
of children we will never have,
of places we will never go,
or lives we will never share.

You left without a goodbye
and I convince myself that closure is what I need.
But somewhere behind my cobweb covered heart and dusty bones,
I know I really just need you again.

I built my flimsy paper home within your ribcage
and I saw you had a lit match balanced between your fingertips,
but I stayed.
Because I knew going in that this game was dangerous,
and I was willing to risk it all for the idea of you.

When the walls came down,
I frantically reached for some solitude to hold onto.
My hands clawed at the inferno looking for your familiar relief,
but all I found was ash.
Because that's all you really left in your wake:
black ash that thickly coated my insides,
suffocating me until the last molecule of air
exited my exhausted body.

Despite all this,
I still hold onto
the tragic memories,
the series of dismantled almosts.
The silence is crippling,
and the idea of what could've been,
plays painfully across my fragmented memories.

"You're simply extraordinarily ordinary."

This is my final goodbye.

In your black, beat-down civic,
you blasted The Wonder Years' song,
An Elegy For Baby Blue
and you told me that the song was about a stolen bike
and that you loved it more than words could describe.
And I turned to you,
and told you that I loved you
as much as you loved that song.
And you kissed me until I was positive
I couldn't wash the taste of you out of my mouth.

It's Wednesday, July 9th
and it's been 475 days since we last spoke.
I smoked a single one of your favorite Marlboros yesterday,
and buried the rest of the pack in my backyard,
in the place under where you put dandelions in my hair.
It's Wednesday, July 9th
and I miss you like I've missed you for the past 475 days.

I got drunk last weekend,
and went out with Laura to the mall,
to buy The Wonder Years' album.
I played the CD in my car on the way back
until I was positive the walls of my head were peeling
from the memories of you.
An Elegy For Baby Blue came on
and I could swear I felt your warm breath down my neck
and I spent the night lying in the backseat,
staring at the gradient sky.

I always loved sunsets
because they reminded me
that even endings could be beautiful.
You told me that you didn't love me anymore
under a sunset colored sky,
because you thought that our ending could be beautiful.
But you were wrong.
Our ending was rancid
and it left me with jagged
with emotion I no longer have the capacity to feel.

I always loved sunsets,
because they reminded me that endings can be beautiful.
But sunsets eventually bleed into nightfall
and that's all endings ever are,
dark and cold.

"It's all over now Baby Blue.
It's like the world stopped revolving in the absence of you."

I had a dream that you died last night.
I've told myself I was over you,
but I woke up crying.
You would always look at me so sadly
when I told you that I almost killed myself 8 times
and I never understood
why it shook you so much.

I always find myself
tracing my fingers over your spot on the bed,
hoping to feel your warmth once again.
You were a supernova,
and you always believed that burning out was
better than fading away.

We were no exception.

I dial your number sometimes,
hoping to hear your soft baritone voice
replace the harsh automated one.
"The number you have dialed is out of service."

I miss you,
and though the feeling is not mutual,
I still continue to write about it.
I love you,
and though the feeling is not mutual,
I still continue to be shaken by it.

I had a dream you died last night.
I told myself I was over you,
but I jumped after you in the dark.
"I love you."
*This is my way of burning out.

Today, I went back to the place where you kissed me for the first time.
The lady at the counter remembered me as the girl
that would always smile softly at the tall boy,
and my arms wouldn't stop trembling
as I grabbed the ice cream from her aged hands.

I still feel you in my bones.

I remember the day I got the call.
Your mom's voice was incoherent through the static
and the violent sobs.
"He...he swerved into the median and his car flipped," your brother
never really liked me,
but in that moment he sounded almost sorry for me,
for all of us.

I saw your brother cry for the first time that night,
and between the ugly hiccups,
he said, "Hell, he'd die laughing if he saw me like this."
and I said, "That death would've been more fitting."
Please come back now.

I remember laying in bed for days,
replaying the conversations,
the memories,
the very essence of you.

I miss you like the moon misses the sun.

Your best friend stood next to me at the memorial service.
"Do you believe in God?" He asked me this as your brother said a few words that your Dad wrote for him.

"Do you believe in God?" You asked me this on a crisp February evening,
much different from the freezing November morning they lowered you
6 feet into the ground.
I smiled and leaned my face into your soft, brown hair,
"Yeah, I do. Because I believe he led me to you, dearest."

"No. I don't," I replied to your best friend and he glanced down
at the empty coffin,
"Me too," he whispered.

Something inside me cracked that day.

Your last words to me were: "You looked so beautiful in the moonlight.
I feel like I've fallen in love with you all over again. I'll see you soon, I promise"

I'm so scared that in our haste to heal, we'll forget too soon.
Because you my love,
were beautiful.
And beautiful things deserve to be remembered.

"I'll remember you.
I promise, I will."

My arms still shake when I drive by your neighborhood.
My eyes still water when I walk by your locker.
My knees still tremble when I stumble into our Chemistry class.
But I promise,
I'll remember you.
I'll remember you.

                                       -the Moon

I am in love
with eyes that don't see me.

I gave you the match
to burn my paper heart.

In your lips, I found the cosmos.
I found the me that loved herself,
the me that existed outside of
the melancholy songs and messy poetry on restaurant napkins.
I made my paper-home in your ribcage
but I failed to see the lit match balanced
dangerously between your calloused fingertips.

(I miss you like the moon misses the sun.)

You were sickeningly sweet,
and I was desperate to be saved.
You were everything to me.

(I was not brilliant enough.)

I was naïve in my loving.
I never thought that something so pure,
could turn so dark inside my mind.
That's the thing about me,
I pull things apart in my head
until they're mere fragmented versions of what they used to be.
We were no exception.

("I desire the things that destroy me in the end.")

The phone calls got shorter,
my heart cracked a little with each
missed encounter.
I felt myself slipping through the cracks
of your brilliant pavement.

(I am falling apart day by day.)

You didn't know how much it hurt to feel yourself
being forgotten.
You didn't know how it felt to be the television version
of a person with a broken heart.
I didn't know that fading away
felt worse than burning out.

(Will drinking cyanide **** the burning in the pit of my stomach?)

I guess now I see that you can't really save people,
all you can do is love them.

I stand on the rocky ground between heaven and hell.
My mother once told me that you can't have it all,
but she never met you with your sweet lips and soft eyes.
I loved you deeply,
fully,
wholly.
I loved you more than I loved my own consciousness.

Somone once told me that falling in love
felt a lot being set on fire.
Watching as you disappeared in front of your own eyes,
dwindling down to ashes,
love felt a lot like being ablaze.

You were my inferno.
You were reckless and you burned bright enough to blind me,
but you also warmed me from the inside out.
Looking back,
I can't tell where you stopped warming me,
and began burning me.
I never noticed my fingertips turning to ash
and my heart hardening from your touch.
But I needed you.
I needed warmth, even if I knew from the beginning
that you'd be my demise.
I would always choose the most lethal weapon.
You were no exception.

Your love was fire,
it left me with scattered fragments of my former self.
And it's tragic that I'll always need someone to piece me back together
so that I can feel whole again.
When I loved you,
I watched everything fade around me,
until you were the only one left in my universe.
So when you left,
I felt this desolation that swallowed me from the inside.
Love is a paper boat that sinks,
and I am a sailor that never learnt how to swim.

There are moments in which
I convince myself that the sun shines in your eyes.
There are also moments in which
I'm afraid I'll drain you of that very light that drew me to you.
I've only ever taken from people,
I've only ever fallen out of love,
but your lips feel more like home that any house I've ever lived in.
People says that humans are like toys,
initially interesting but eventually jaded.
But what I've learnt is that people aren't like toys at all.
They can't be fixed with a few screws and some glue.
What I've learnt is that you can't really fix a person,
all you can do is love them,
and loving is hard for a girl that's only ever known airport terminals
and indefinite goodbyes.
But I'm willing to try my best for the boy who has eyes that shine that shine as bright as the morning sun.

Things tend to somehow fall apart,
as they come together.

I drove out to your house last night
and your mom told me that you've been well.
And I don't know why that hurt so much.
But I've been thinking that maybe it was because,
you've moved on from the memories of us.
Maybe you've forgotten the scent of my body wash,
and it's ****** that I can still smell hints of yours in my sheets.
The night you left,
I drowned myself in a bottle of your favorite wine,
and I could've sworn I heard echoes of your voice in the ripples
of the dark plum liquid.
I spent the night throwing up into the sink,
and sobbing into the bath mat.
Maybe you've forgotten my electric-blue fingernails,
that traced lazy circles on the back of your hand.
Maybe you've forgotten the kisses I planted on the corners of your mouth.
Maybe you've forgotten just how much I begged
for you to stay.
Because I hear you've been doing well,
and I still can't listen to your favorite song without heaving.
I guess it hurts to be forgotten,
just as it hurts to remember.

I drove out to your house last night
and I crashed my Toyota into a street light on my way back.
The flickering light casted a shadow on the hood of my white car
and I noticed that it looked a lot like the ones we casted
on the night you first kissed me.
"She's lost too much blood," the paramedic wore the same cologne as you.
I screamed as they charged the defibrillator
full of the memories I tried to escape.
"Time of death: 1:35 AM."

You cried at my funeral.
I was sorry.

I guess it hurt letting go,
just as it hurts to be let go.

You were always so fascinated with silhouettes.
The way the ***** of the nose flowed into the lips,
flowed into the curve of the chin,
then the ******* and finally the heart.
You told me I looked beautiful that night
that you first kissed me.
I could swear I heard my heart soar but
maybe beneath that flutter,
I failed to notice the slight crack.
Because the moment you made your home
in my ribcage,
I lost segments of myself until the day you left,
I now notice, you actually left nothing at all.
Looking back, I see that it was actually my fault.
I was hasty in loving you so fully.
My mother told me to be wary of the drugs on the street,
the day I left home.
But she failed to mention that some drugs come
with a beating heart and hazel eyes.
I still feel you flowing in my blood stream.
Your scent, permanently embedded into my bones.
And I don't know what's sadder:
The fact that I'm still in love with you,
or the fact that you were never loved me to begin with.
You only loved the idea of me.
You only loved my skeleton.
And you were all I ever wanted.
But I was not brilliant enough.
Now I see that you only love silhouettes
because you're afraid of fully seeing someone,
out and vulnerable.
So, you settle for shadows.

More often than not, you find that you don't really want to die.
Maybe it happens after you swallow the pills,
or maybe it happens when you slit your wrists too deep.
Or maybe it happens when you feel the life slipping out of your shell of your body on the ***** bathroom floor of your father's house.
Or maybe it happens when you see the face of a God
you spent 17 years cursing.

You are young and you'll experience love and pain and loss intensely and it'll seem like your life is falling apart at times.
But you are strong enough to build it back up from its bare bones.
You are not your failures.
You are not a mirage of tangled memories and unfulfilled promises.
You are a kaleidoscope of color,
a collision of atoms moving at the speed of light.
You are the wind,
You are the sun,
You are the moon,
You are all my stars.

You are all these things and so much more
and I hope that you will find strength in the little things that make this
life worthwhile.

I hear it's beautiful on the other side, but you've yet to taste the spectrum so stay a little longer for me, please?

I feel everything in sporadic bursts of color.
Kaleidoscopes of orange and blue and green and red and crippling black.

I feel to escape the hollow screams.
I feel to escape my own insanity.

There is no beauty in pain.
There is no reward in silence.

I tried to talk to god when I was younger,
but I have since found that the sky is empty.

Feeling is humanity's forfeiture.

You were everything I wanted.
I was not brilliant enough.