I
sit by
myself
in an empty room
I
swear
I
love you, but
sometimes it is
such a burden
to have to
speak to another
to feel their
touch on
my
skin, to
have to give
any of
myself
to another when
I
am rarely enough
even for
me

I reach… and though my arms (far
too weak) are long, my hands cannot
quite grasp what I need (to love you).

This distance is a poison in (my heart)
the deepest parts of me. I wish you were
here, because this love (is too frail) needs it.

I’m afraid (for us) that the miles between
are far more than numbers on a map, and that
we were doomed the first (to last) time we

touched.

down, down
and further under
the crashing waves
my love for you
disappears into the sea
of my apathy
an atlantis
never to be
rediscovered

I dissect people
not with a knife
but
with my eyes
with my ears
with the words that spill
from my tongue, probing
without trying,
judging responses

poking around their
insides, noting
this thought goes
here
and this
is connected to
that
ad nauseum
until I have memorized
every nook and
cranny

I learn people
much better than
they realize
I mostly
keep it to
myself,
afraid to
nick an artery
while I'm examining
and cause our friendship to
bleed out
from wounds
inflicted
by pointed-out flaws
and questions best
left
unanswered

As the light fades from
my eyes, I think
back,
think back to
years past.

There are times
when I felt
that it was
all
worth it -
justified
in my means
to my ends.

But in the end,
what is
truly the end,
I am bereft
of hope,
left empty
in the wake
of all
I have
done
in this
cursed life.

I have known joy
unparalleled
and felt
the stirrings
of my soul
as I
touched
your flesh.

But you are gone,
never again
to arch your
back as my
fingers
run
down
your spine,

And now, I must answer
for all that I have
done

It no longer hurts to think
about you - about our lives
becoming disentangled

I used to think you were
"The One," with whom I would
grow old, start a family

I didn't know myself, then -
didn't know how I react
to pain, to hardship

I had suffered before, more
than some see in their whole
lives, and yet

less than others see in a
minute of tear-stricken grief
or in their last moments

I had suffered before, yes
but I never knew how I
handled it, never saw

how I pushed people away,
insisting it was this or
that, but never me

Now I see myself, not perfectly
but well enough to know
why we ended that way

It no longer hurts to think
about you, but sometimes I
wonder what you're doing

And all the letters I
would write you
fall
into the cracks of
my mind,
disappearing at
the first word.

What would I say? I am a
fragile, fearful thing.
And you are
not
who I thought.

I believe it's better
this way,
but
still,
I find myself
penning, over and
over, one word
before the
pages slip away.
One word:
"Why?"