Sometimes I talk about you like you're away on a trip and you're coming back.
Throwing you into casual conversations as if the people I was conversing with felt everything you make me feel.
Pretending they understand the depths of my heart
and how deep you've fallen into it.

But not even I understand the intensity that is you.

Like gravity you pull me back and hold me down.
Trapping me in an illusion of a story never told and never to be told
but forever read in my head.
A never ending dialogue between love and loss, let go and hold on.

A love story.

A tragically beautiful love story.

If I wrote suicide note...
It wouldn't be a love letter
If I wrote a suicide note
Would you be in it
Would it sadden your conviction
Would you be my hopeful light that made me leave with a smile
If you read the note
Would tear ducts flow
Would you caring make a difference
Woul I be pushed aside or would it be more delibrate
If I wrote a suicide note
Do you think I would end it
Would life crush me to the point
Thyat I would morlly want to end it
When you read it and the truth spilled out
Could it make or brake your attention
My hateful restitution
My loving resolution
What would be the reason
Today or tomorrow
If you wrote a suicide note
Would i be in it or make the difference





Have you ever thought every consequential second me just exsisting or emotions thick as resin
Would you cry knowing I did. The guilt would it **** you that I lived and you weren't around to care or do anything about it. If you were there and tried as hard as you could and love me with warmth and not responsibility as I would you. I left it in the note as my best and worst

What do I take with me as I walk out that perverbal door?
         The butterflies I have kept hidden in my hope.
         My disintegrating resilience, slowly chipped away by your verbal thrashings and controlled blaming.  

The hijacking of  emotions.

I pack away what remains of my self esteem.
Delicately wrap the shattered pieces of my truth.
          To be replenished and reconstructed with sober eyes
                                                                ­                     and a revived mind.

I ask for the lessons yet to be learned.
And the love yet to be unconditional.

Left behind is my forgiveness without expectation.
My resentments without guilt.
My shame without implication.
I no longer need them to define me.

My apology is next to the many things left unsaid.
A silent acknowlegment of my regrets and carelessness.

We can each take the memories that remind us of a happier time.
When ignorance was euphoric and accepted.
Floating above reality in a kismet of our own creation.

Finally, we can each lovingly share the life-force that has made it all worth something.

I am getting ready for the calm.
           relief from the rampant and unwavering thoughts that **** my mind.
           self doubt clinging to my awakening like an incurable disease.

I am getting ready for the artificial happiness to relent
           surrcome to unforced laughter and genuine smiles.

I am getting ready for desire
      locked in the cellar of my shame
      along with so many other things

I am getting ready for hope
       the warmth of it washing over me
       engulfing, cleansing
       bringing with it the unblinding sunlight

I am getting ready for you
       my Beloved

Searching for my strength in my own self pity has left we weak of spirit and depleated of hope.
I am at a depilating stand still.
To pause is to fail.
To rest creates guilt.
By losing my sense of self,
I have lost my truth.
My instincts have been reduced to a whimper.