"how is it that we have become so distant?" he asked.
"well, my love, you seem to have found a different disposition that no longer requires my assistance."

blank pages
you fill with empty words.
it would be nice to see those lines
those curves.
but words do not seem to amuse you.
they escape and abuse you.
so those pages that remain blank
will surely stay without ink.
for to get your book
would be an impossible thing.

the cold, my love
is something so close to us
it finds us in our dreams.
it haunts not only you,
but me.

the cold, my love
has something I want.
it has the warmth that is meant
to be for us.
but it so blatantly disregards
our every being.

the cold, my love
will soon find its way
in and between.
soaking into our bones
to keep us from loving.

my perspectives seem to be skewed.
uneven and drawn to misguided conclusions.
I'm left tilted and jilted
from my own interpretations.
flawed is my nature
with exceptional and judgmental accusations.
I'm not saying that I'm a wreck,
but I'm a ship that seems to have made a wrong turn
and I've somehow found my way to the bottom of the sea.

there are so many people I would like to be
and none of them seem to be myself.

take only what you need
and leave the rest for me.
my emotions are poor
and hardly comforting.
they have become stiff
and raw since you decided to leave.
I'm not sure anymore what it is
that seems to be ailing me.
for if it was you
it would mean I still have love in my heart.
but my dear,
I assure you that I surely do not.

I'm in the dark
losing my sight.
I've tried so hard
to find the light.
but the black that engulfs me
keeps pulling me deeper.
whispering in my ear,
to become someone weaker.