If ignorance means happiness then let me drown in a sea of words.
With cruel waves of black and white
Like long crooked fingers pulling me under
If knowing means death than I will greet him like an old friend,
Waiting with a smile and a warm embrace.
This was just floating around my mind
I've walked this same path so many times it's been concreted over and my soles have weathered out.
But my legs are tired and I'm sick of feeling this way.
I keep my sadness padlocked
until it festers and rots under my skin like a disease.
I'm dying from the inside out
His eyes were summer rain, so new and inviting.
But they were speckled with storms,
and soon he looked as damaged as you.
His face, a cocktail of 1 part sunken in and 4 parts tired.
You don't know who he is,
he doesn't know who he is,
and then a stranger is living in your home.
Every mannerism of his multiplied by 12, 7 days a week.
And your avoiding meals,
and sleeping in the same bed.
You still love him but you can feel your life being consumed by the tics,
every repetition a crack in cement.
It is still possible to repair a broken sidewalk, let a flower grow from its scars but hes falling deeper with every flick of the light switch or pace of the hall.
x12 x12 x12
You wonder if, like everything else, his heart will break twelve times too.
Or is that the only thing that's safe from his hell.
He wanted to live forever,
in a flurry of soft words and even softer touches.
He said he wanted to be a star
and burn brighter than the
flash of a camera or the stage lights he dreamed of.
But she never had the heart to tell him,
that even the sun will die.
I'm sick of this.
The constant numb,
the want to devour every blazing sunrise just to feel.
The need to claw my way from my marrow
and escape this old cage of bones.
The rotting happiness and cracked heartstrings.
I'm sick of myself.
There is nothing that I wanted to do more
than trace the constellations of freckles of your skin.
Watch as your bones became Orion
guiding me home
and home is you