We fall for the ones who never seem to love us in return
But they need the medicine that we ooze
The broken-winged birds linger above as we try to find our own way
Waiting to be mended with our heart power
We are the healers

How could I only help you
Blind to what it was doing to me
I knew you would soon be better
Blind to what I was slowly becoming
Assisting you whenever I was called
Ignoring that my calls were always denied
How could I be so oblivious to what was unfolding
You were becoming better with each passing day.
But i, I was deeper into the hole I helped you out of
You felt the sunlight and left without hesitation
Leaving me in this hole of darkness that wasn't my own
Blind to what it was doing to me
I stayed happy that you were better
Blind to what I had become
This dark hole soon became my home
As I could hear the happiness of your better soul
It never dawned on me it was for the misery of my soul in exchange that you could truly live happy.

This is an experiment
designed to put us out of
our misery and what 'this' is
is hard to tell, to explain it,
well
we could try.

The lab coats with the stethoscopes and
the things that bleep when we go to sleep.

The digital thermometer that measures,
(haha) asif
the temperature.

OCD is just the way I do and
the things I see,
CDO is better though.

The hypodermic terminal
the point at the end of
a fine needle,
they stick it in and
pull the pin
boom, back to the
operations room.

What is this?

Spilling from my eyes,

Caressing my cheeks,

And falling to my lips?

I taste slightly salty texture

Oh ****....I must be crying

was it her old blind passion
her desire
she couldn't get to him

in another world,
would it have been different

She was crying when I left her.
She has forgotten how to smile.
She said she wouldn't change.
She would rather hear a lie.
She would rather feel no pain.
She hears me say don't fall in love.
She see's me live my life.
She knows we have no future.
She wants to live a lie.
She begs me to stay.
She begs me to stay.
She begs me to stay in her lie.

☁️

The Grave said to the Rose,
"What of the dews of dawn,
Love's flower, what end is theirs?"
"And what of spirits flown,
The souls whereon doth close
The tomb's mouth unawares?"
The Rose said to the Grave.

The Rose said, "In the shade
From the dawn's tears is made
A perfume faint and strange,
Amber and honey sweet."
"And all the spirits fleet
Do suffer a sky-change,
More strangely than the dew,
To God's own angels new,"
The Grave said to the Rose.

Morning sky: confluence of grays.  
Juxtaposition
Arbitrary hearts: blithe and lambent.