I feel as if I've let my sanity go
I don't know if it's from you
Or myself.
Maybe all my thoughts of making you happy,
Simply ****** my sense of emotion
To care for myself
And make myself as happy as I once was.
Man, I'm far from sane.

You are a wounded lion,
I would make myself small to pull the thorns from your paw.
Your words translate from my thoughts,
While my lungs fill with water from my eyes.
Drowning in the reflection of dreams,
Without a paddle, caught in the riptide.
Every word you speak pulls me deeper,
Pulls me farther away from what I know is real and solid.

You would be a band-aid for loneliness,
Stuck to me.
In silence is trust,
That what we have is enough.
I watch you through glass the most vivid rose,
My expectations are great, and you set the bar.
I would let myself burn to see you shine,

I am here to help.

And the secret things she whispered to me.
Beneath the limbs of the baobab tree.
I held to my lips like molasses and wine
And dreamed of her kiss with the promise of mine.

You had all of me
Couldn't you feel it in your hand?
Opened your fingers slightly
And I slipped through like sand
Each grain that hit the ground,
A memory unbound
By the chains that locked you in my heart
Until each touch...
Each kiss...
Fell into the infinite dark
I thought we made a whole when we combined, us two
But I must've been full of myself
To believe I had even half of you.

I’ve felt the rhythm of the world,
Pulsating from an unknown source,
Illuminating every facet of existence.
Life and death are Illusions.
They are choices that we make,
As we drift asleep,
In the transitory second,
The twilight in between dreams and reality.
Preservation is unnaturally natural.
Everything will fade,
Everything will die,
Sustainment is useless,
Ignorant of facts, our brains think in Formaldehyde,
Doing anything to hold on to gold dust as it slips through our fingers.

I’ve been caught in this roundabout for as long as I remember,
Assured that the chain would never be broken,
Fearing what we can never know,
Fearing more what I truly understand.
Understanding allows for criticism,
People who hate themselves know themselves too well.

I’ve become so evasive towards touch;
I thought I was made with scissorhands,
Sharp blades, unable to satisfy what phantom limbs cannot feel,
Now I know that it is okay;
I am afraid.
And now I understand why.