I stand above my bed
And examine the damage.
Blankets this way and that
Pillows all over
Sheets tangled up around themselves.
Proof of something that
Only hours ago
Left this place empty.
I take in the rubble
And breathe deeply.
I lower myself down to those
Tangled sheets
And backwards bedspreads
And fill my lungs with you.
I pull them up around me
And close my eyes
And wish for this place to be
The same kind of battleground
Again tomorrow.

Leaves die in the fall,
and I’m that cold wind.
Cancer that kills
all cells within.
Everything I touch
just wilts with a nudge
as glares and smiles
all start to judge.
When the sun finally rises
and winter’s away
grass in the fields
all raise to the day.
But my back yard withers.
All sad to see,
everything I touch
dies to its knees.
Beautiful, but yet
with a touch it is crumbled.
Unknown to me,
my touch only stumbles.
Loosening the dirt
with sweet talk of a dove.
So quick into lust.
So quick into love.
When all is settled.
At last a right pair.
That match lights in flames,
ashing in-to thin air.
This winter’s a cold one,
as the cancer spreads thick.
Clenching last breathes,
and killing so quick.
A life so familiar,
Living’s a tease.
Everything I touch
dies to its knees.

There once was a girl
Who gave herself a name
Different to her own
And dyed her brown hair
Blonde
And said it was her natural colour.

She lived in a flat
Far away from home
And though she paid the rent
On the first day
Of every month
She never felt it was her own.

There was a forest
Near the home that wasn't hers
Sprawled across a valley
Though she never said it
And rarely thought it
She longed to get lost in it someday.

But she didn't
She got lost in nine to five
She was a waitress
Earned the most from tips
From men who liked her attitude
And her long blonde hair.

Lovers were sparse
But never unpleasant
And she thought about revealing
Something more
Than the superficial
But always changed her mind in the morning.

And she never had regrets
Even when a yellow cab
With a sleeping driver
Sent her up into the air
And she took one last look
At the unfamiliar sky above her.

And though a few people
From the town she never lived in
Said it was a tragedy
It was maybe for the best
Because her dark roots
Had just begun to show.

The time ticks by tediously.
It's as if this night is never-ending.

While I lie here waiting, my mind wanders idly.
As usual, my thoughts eventually settle on you.
(A sad nightly ritual, if you will)

Your face swims into focus, but I fear it's blurrier than before.
I can still picture the bright blue of your eyes perfectly,
But the contours of your face are getting fuzzy.
Is this really you I'm remembering,
Or are you slipping away?
I can't even recall the sweet melody of your voice.

This terrifying realization hits me hard.
I'm losing you.
Again.

These memories are all I have.
Please don't take them from me.
I want to scream out, but all I can do is gasp for air.

Once upon a time, you were my everything.
We were supposed to live happily ever after.
But you were stolen from me that stormy night.
I can still hear their words echo through the empty house.
He never felt any pain. He died instantaneously.

Well *******. You left me with so much pain.
I suffer through it every night.
As I fight with all my might,
To keep your memory alive.
Because I will always love you.

The time ticks by tediously.
I'm just waiting until mine runs out.
Maybe then, we can be together again.

I wiped it off my sleeve
So you couldn't see it
I watered down the words
So that you couldn't read it
You mean much more to me
Than you even know
And it would be wrong of me
To let you see the things I have to show

So I let you go
And you'll never know

Running from that which strengthens me,
I am lost in the void of consciousness.
This choice of mine, made half in fear,
Will guide my path of blind ambition.

Conscious minds are prisons in themselves:
Prisons of lust and loss, of pain and love
That never cease to hold captive the soul.

I discourage the ordinary and reject the sane;
The only true sanity lies in understanding of the self.
In searching for reason, one finds naught but riddles
But from their disorder, meaning is born.

Think on this, friends, and you will find little but confusion
For even the widely-held truths of this realm mean little to the enlightened mind.

Hollow like the void that's grown between us.
Empty and broken.

A year and a half has passed.