Whenever I'm with you,
I don't hear our clothing fall.
nor the change in our breath,
or the neighbors down the hall.

There is no sound in between us
the heat then speaks instead
it dances with us, back and forth
leaving sentences in sweat.

I have never heard hesitance,
or shame when we are close.
I hear nothing but the sweet nothings
that we already know

So to me we lay in silence,
which is strange to all but us
but our true love is deafening
if you listen hard enough.

Your cow pajamas make me smile.
Their pink, covered in little bubbly bovines, and they smell like you.
As much as I love them for their adorable nature, they would be so much better if you were actually wearing them.
there needs to be legs inside these pink threads.
there needs to be toes poking out the end.
there needs to be a belly for the cows to cling onto, in order to stay put.
without you, they do not really have a purpose.
they were carelessly flung onto your side of the bed when you left.
and now they occasionally end up on my chest, cuddled to me, in a pathetic attempt to remember your scent.

nothing is as cute without you. not even cow pajamas.

I am tired.
I am tired of not sleeping. Tired of trying to stay awake, because each time I try to sleep every bad thought and guilty feeling consumes my mind’s fatigue and internalises the stress into energy. My anxiety can keep my mind running all night long. I am tired of running without crossing any distance. Running without moving is an exercise my mind is too out of shape to survive. I’m tired of running away. Each step pounds the point home that I am a coward. Each pound pushes the earth down until it reaches the other-side, causing another step along the way. The eternal footrace soldiers on thanks to the anxiety engine.
I’m tired of fear. Repetitive worry exhausts every other thought from existing, so fear becomes the constant state. I’m so fluent in fear that I twitch at every sound and grip at every surface. My mouth is so prepared to scream that simple phrases of love and compassion, or even pleasantries and common courtesy involve intense concentration to untie my tongue.
I am tired of the silence. Silence from those who don’t have the seconds to spare to consider these issues, silence from the loved ones who refuse to understand, silence from the health professionals who seem to know more about pushing drugs then pushing information. I am tried of the silence I am shackled to by a condition that hides in thousands of names and symptoms.
I am tired of crying. I am tired of being unable to control a torrent of pointless salt and shame every time I need to ask a question in a train station or a bank. Countless scenarios with incalculable varying outcomes drain me, I cannot prepare for technology to fail, for accidents, for unhinged passers by or the end of the world. I cannot prepare for anything. I cannot control anything. Not even tears.
I am tired of not sleeping, I am tired of not waking, I am tired of running and running away, I am tired of crying, I am tired of caring, I am tired of dreaming, I am tired of trying… I am tired of being tired.

So ******* tired.

Recently I've grown to see
the weakness in my mind.
I'm challenged by the ordinary
resentment I always find.
For I have the great power
to forgive and be forgiven,
but I am lacking in drive and manner,
of which this action can be taken.
I will call myself a blamer
upon myself and many others
my hopeless romantic is a failure
but the lack of hope is from my lovers
they caress control and swindle
and leave me broken poor and ******
it leaves the torn up hard to mingle
and the forgotten hard to miss.
So I'll take stock in my conquests,
despite how little they may be,
I will be reborn a celibate
and set my libido free.
Nothing good belongs in deviance,
sinful, ****** or more,
I will retain what is left of my innocence
and forget all from before.

realities are shifting
in and out like sliding doors,
nothing left but the drifting
of my mind through open pores.

I'm sweating love and pain
leaving so quick like it's ashamed
to be a shimmer on my skin.
let the withdrawals begin.

Her breath catches. she turns over. it doesn't matter, no matter what she does, she won't sleep. that itch is there.
she lies on the flat of her back, staring at the colours swirling on the ceiling with the shadows dancing with them. she starts thinking about him again. the way his hair curls at the end, the way it moves when the wind blows around, the way his face scrunches up in amusement, the way he holds himself, how he leans in when he speaks, his lips, his face, his eyes...she lets her mind wander...aswell as her hand...
her breath catches again, but for an entirely different reason.
setting a steady pace she drives herself insane, physically with resistance and mentally with reminders of who she can't have.
two years gone and she still can't stop. she loves him. everything about him, the air around him, even. she adores him and it's killing her.
her legs widen to accomadate her rising arousal, a low moan grows in the back of her throat, pushing her forward making her desire vocal, unlike the love that has crushed her heart over and over, again and again, she can't stand it anymore.
her speed increases and she breaks a sweat. she's crying now, thinking about the rehashed fantasy she built in her brain. how she'd loose herself to him, give him eveything, let him take her to places shes never been before. She cries because she knows it'll never be so, all she'll have is her own little bed and her own hand for company, no strong arms to hold her as she falls asleep, no sweet lips to kiss goodnight, no growing passion pushing into her ever so warmly.
suddenly she bucks, screams out in pain and passion, and curls in a ball to live through the aftershocks and the screaming agony her heart holds, she pretends he's holding her and slowly falls asleep.

The barrel rested
between his eyes,
against his nose.

his eyes were closed.
he never dared to breathe.
he just listened.

with every shot,
earth shattering boom,
he winced.

the bodies of brothers
friends and strangers
surrounded him in bits.

and in one weak moment
of prayer,
of desperation,
he wanted his mother.

and the last thing he heard
was the shot meant for him.

a soundless space with stress free air,
an end of day without a care,
a guitar sitting proud and spent,
a long last sigh thats truly meant.

a calming stride towards, and soon
a comfort found in your cocoon,
a turned off light, a dark curtain
a passive state to let dreams in

a craved silence, a private place
a content smile upon your face
a warmth, a glow, a closing breath
as finally, your body rests.

a place to shut out all the woe,
a place where only you can go,
a place thats solely yours to keep
a place where you can fall asleep.

Something snapped.
the last straw, perhaps.
it all became too much, the pressure builded until the force of it pushed against my conscience and called my fury into action.
and the movement was so fast that the world slowed down around it.
like my brain had already processed it and replayed it to myself, as slowly as it could.
either so I could fully feel the severity of what I've done...
or maybe just so I could revel in it.
in that fury. the fury that set me apart from myself.
and showed my true capabilities.
and when my hand flew through the air with the lamp I'd grabbed near by,
and collided heavily into his head,
splitting the skin and breaking the bone and mutilating his last thought as the shards pierced his brain..
I felt an odd peace.
that peace of justice and contentment.
but then the sirens ***** the silence...
and my fury rose once more.

I am a tress-passer on the land belonging to the noble.
I am a sheep in wolves clothing.
I am nothing more than a ******* child of ignorance and closed windows.
I am backwards.
I am loud.
I am wrong.
I am **Kayleigh.

Aging face with boyish charm,
broad shoulders to care-free arms,
manly nave to dancers hip,
soldier's legs to a child's skip.

heavy heart through lightened words,
booming voice to deafen hurt,
eyes to sparkle wit with play,
soul set stone in subtle sway.

A seer of all to be seen,
a prodigy for stage and screen,
A star in his very own trend,
A Coatman, a true best friend.

Defeatist dread
sits in the pit of my stomach.
I'm weighed down,
like a brick tied to my hope
dragging me to drown.

I feel so choked
every expression is strained
strangled in my throat.
If I could sing or could scream
I would let you know.

Is it apathy,
that grounds me to despair
or the horrid prospect
that deep down
I already knew the end.

I can keep adrift,
breathe through make-shift
gills.
but I can't tread water.
webbed-less
not weightless.

I miss you.
I miss you in my house. I miss the interaction you had with my parents and I miss how much you love them. I miss you wearing my clothes and the smell of you lingering on them for days, I'd bury my head in the neck of my jackets and hug myself, just to breathe you in.
I miss your wicked sense of humour and your appauling timing. I miss the complete hatred but utter respect for my friends. I admired you so much for looking past the obvious reasons to be hostile towards them and seeing them for who they really were; People who cared about me. and to you that was enough. No one has ever shown that much foresight as far as I am concerned.
I miss the way your head would twitch to the side in concern. I miss how much I meant to you. I miss holding you when you cried. I miss the look you gave me when you were either serious or aroused. the look of almost fear at your own vulnerability and screamed "Im holding on for dear life, do you know that?". I miss being the one to know that.
I miss how you'd smile when you saw me. I miss how you'd hold me, with such enthusiasm and didn't give a **** what people thought of you because of it. I miss how shamelessly you'd grin flirtatiously at me so I'd end up buying you something, which sounds horrible, but I adored you for it.
I miss being able to read you. I miss singing to you. I miss the way bile would rise up in my throat whenever I worried about you. although that still happens.
I miss the places we would go. I miss our place. I miss the way you made me feel. I miss feeling love. I miss feeling like I would do absolutely anything in my power for you, and what I couldn't do, I'd **** well try to do anyway.
I miss knowing I'd slay dragons for you. I miss constantly trying to save you. I miss your clever literature and your witty take on the world inside your head. I miss your creative, yet somewhat disturbing figments of your imagination. I miss falling asleep whilst texting you at 5.30 in the morning.
I miss writing songs about you.
I miss waking up before you and watching you sleep, the way you'd sometimes cling to me and I'd marvel at how lucky I was.
I miss you wanting me.
I miss you needing me.
I miss being important to you.
I miss you finding me funny. I miss your whispers. I miss your ears, your fingers, your eyes, your hair, your hips, your navel and your neck.
I miss making toast for you.
I miss putting up with your horrible, horrible friends, purely because I wanted you to be happy.
I miss trying to make you happy.
I miss throwing my life away for you.
I miss every single moment, emotion and time involved with you.
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
and I'm always going to, aren't I?

The lips I could have kissed
the skin I could have felt
the hips locked to my hips
the wonder below his belt

hair trapped in my fingers
his forehead upon mine
arms wrapped 'round to linger
on the top of my backside

hands that could have fumbled
the clothes stuck to my skin
hiding the innocence
I'd grown to confide in

had I pushed the boundary,
had I of given in,
My skin would now be cursed
with his, an aging sin.

I could never forgive
myself for that action
my body was not his
to own, then abandon.

You seemed like a token at first,
as horrible as that sounds.
like a decoration for the girls,
a novelty to have around.

you squealed at the right songs,
and put colours in your hair,
you listened to their love stories,
and you seemed eager to share

but I judged you naively,
I presumed and decided.
I should of seen through, to reality
I should have tried to meet David.

Because you are smarter than I
ever bothered to determine.
the beauty and depth you hide
behind a charming, perky curtain

I'm sorry for not seeing you
for who you truly were
a soul, like mine, self tortured
complicated, and hurt.

but now, we've found each other.
you surprise me every day.
David, In you I have discovered
a friend I'd never change.

words intertwined like legs.

***, idealism
in everything you said.

naive yet wise with tide,
your mistakes pushed your stride...

and I admired, yet
knew pity welled inside.

You were used, aborted.
You were just paraded
You were just escorted
you were smart yet you allowed
yourself to be their crown.

I could never catch you
I wanted to obtain
one night of our passion
capsulised, for me
to look back on, remember.

the idol, the puzzle
the sheer depth
yet lack of

the ultimate of you.

When I used to read ****** romance novels or online fiction (we all do it when we're lonely, don't lie) Before I was in a stable relationship myself, I'd noticed that when love is described it usually unfolds the same way.
it's a warm ball of light in your chest. it starts out small, unravels, and becomes so big and filling that it radiates through you. hotter than the sun. or at least, that's what they say.
It always irked me to read, because surely love is indescribable?
you can't spin the roller coaster of love into a straight forward strain of thought, enough to actually explain love fully in all it's capacity and magnificent energy.

No little ***** of light could match the intensity of naked love.

This here, is the problem I am having. you can't write it down. all of those beautiful things written by others before? they don't compare. no song, poem, verse or bible passage can compete with how I feel for you. and at the time these cliched descriptions were enough to sate the hopeless romantic inside me but now, now that I am aware of love I can't abide the misrepresentation it gets.
Nothing compares to you (Ok, maybe Sinead O Connor had the right idea...) and because nothing compares to you, I can't write. I have no songs to sing and nothing to write because I'm happy. I'm more than happy... I'm beside myself.
I can't capture you, my feelings for you, or the magic of our connection in any art form. supposedly it's because it is it's own art form. our love is art, priceless and constantly changing.
It bothers me because I want to tell the world. I want to show them. I want to run up to all the lonely people, who felt like I felt and go "IT EXISTS! YOU WILL FIND IT! HOLD ON! DON'T LOSE HOPE!" because they need to know... they need to understand.
but if love can't be expressed correctly, they will never understand.

So to the lonely people ;

Love is incomprehensible.
It is life saving.
It is frustratingly beautiful and unbelievable. it is every cliche you've ever heard of and much, much more. it is definitely not over rated. don't ever stop looking, don't ever give up hope. it's there and one day, you'll feel it too.

It's like skipping to the end of the book.
you know the outcome, but miss the fun of reaching the end naturally.
that's how it feels.

or it's more like a deadline. quite literally, in fact.
you must have done this much, by this time, or... well... who really knows?

now is not the time to reflect on the spiritual aspect.

there are things to do. and to prepare.
things need to be organised, papers need to be signed...
people need to be informed.
oh, why. not only do I have to meet this fate, I also have to forewarn the ones I love of it. as if the knowledge of what is impending wasn't bad enough.
I have to see their faces as they accept it.
I have to see the tears and the shock.
I have to witness how they love me, in the worst yet most beautiful way.
How do you divide your life into boxes to go to different people?
how do you say good bye, finally?

How can I be expected to do this? to handle this?
how does anyone do it?
do I just say "Hey universe! thanks for having me, it's been swell! say hi to God for me!" or is it more than that?
Do I need to say anything at all?
can't I just lie here... and wait?

or is that all I've done my whole life?
all we do is wait to die.

In this world, they seem to adore you,
Their eyes are bug eyed and blessed.
Regardless of what I've felt from you,
It means nothing to the rest.

You deserve a universe full of hate,
my blood boils with joy from the thought.
Because the love that I gave had all gone to waste,
I gave you my heart and for what?

This town is stained with our history,
each street is another open scar.
each restaurant is like salt on my memories
another stab in the back from afar.

It seems like I can't turn anymore
without a haunting reminder to see,
I can't run away, I can't close the doors
it feels like you're everywhere to me.

I
can
draw
it
out
for
as
long
as
I
want

*it still lacks depth.

If I were a moneyed human,
I would buy us our first home.
I would buy the paint and knick-knacks
to decorate it as our own.

With this imaginary wealth,
I would buy every single book
and gently place them on the shelves
that would surround our breakfast nook

If I could stay this prosperous,
I would buy the L-shaped sofa
for our beautiful living room,
with the sandalwood aroma

If I could remain affluent,
I would buy anything to showcase
how very much your love has meant
to this silly, lonely nutcase

but I am not an up-scale girl,
I have no pennies to my name
I sadly can't buy you the world
and that truth brings me so much shame

but although I'm poor in pocket,
I'm super filthy rich in love!
so please accept my deposit
I hope for now that it's enough.

The nights were dark and torturous,
You cried in every grind and ******,
As I held guard and closed my doors,
but in the morning, I was yours.

You'd pull me closer, without shame,
I'd bury, drink and drive away,
and swear I'll hurt you even more
but in the morning, I was yours.

And still, I hear your sirens call,
your arms open to catch my fall,
with my whispers of "are you sure?"
But by the morning, I am yours.

So with your lands so far from mine,
I take solace and play with time
dreamt only in your company,
In that morning, I will be free.

the words are uninspired
but people blindly follow
I watch but don't comprehend
it appears that I wallow

in bitter, tired, seething rage
instead of embracing
that's what they've all said at least.
that I'm just unforgiving.

but when I was ten years old
I stare out the window all night
with your words in my ears
the only thing that was really mine

and I worshiped, I obsessed
became a perfect, loyal subject.
my personality grew around
the ideals you'd project

but that wasn't enough
for my lofty deity
you threw away all of the light
you'd dared to shine on me

and fused it to empty gestures,
fake sentiments and pretension
I could never come to grips
with that final deception.

so you may now rear your head,
and say that you've returned
"the second coming of our messiah!"
as far as they're concerned

but I can never trust you
my oh so self aware God
you've shown your true colours
and the light you shined has gone.

a shrugged jacket,
leaving arms to sudden cold.
it's so alone in this room.

yet every option is open
plans are made
and I am mad at the existance
of it all.

keep it in mind, don't stray

we all have to let go, at times.

Alcohol, disappointments and tainted heart to hearts,
everyone is there most beautiful, when dying in your arms,
They show you everything in them that you never got to know,
the scars, the charms the love that burns and desecrates their soul.

I never saw you pass by, or noticed you were there,
You've jumped up in my memories but I never seemed to care,
You know everyone around me and have touched there lives somehow,
you've blessed them with your beauty, which never shone on me 'til now.

Sadly though it seems to shine much brighter than it should,
my eyes grow tired and tearful and I'd remove them if I could,
they see things in you they shouldn't and they burn shut when I stare,
who knew that in my distracted state that you'd be standing there?

And now I lie down wondering, if it has really come to this?
I knew that it ignited ever since our first meaningless kiss,
But it grew beneath and showed itself when you **** near broke my heart:
Because you are at your most beautiful, when you're crying in my arms.

I miss the butterflies and the trouble they would cause,
they would fly too far from me and I could never catch them all,
They would stay with the ones they flew for and wait for me to find them,
I'd keep my sights on their flights and my thoughts on their companions.

I miss the words that I would write when a fire stirred within,
be it ignited from pain or love; the beauty created was the same,
Raw, honest and true, I would pour my heart out into song,
I'd hide inside my singing until the feelings sung were lived or gone.

I miss the fleeting moments of looks and mere touches,
No words were spoken yet volumes were written on our faces.
The world fell with insignificance and the focus fell on us,
the passion lingered beneath the surface but our warm hands were enough.

I'm sure the butterflies will re-learn to dance and play,
I know I'll write the words again for my lost friends love and pain,
but the moments, touches and passion are gone forever more,
After everything I've been through, I miss you most of all.

millions would do anything
to stand where I stand
to greet the creator,
the focal point of man.

many would fight,
or die for this chance,
to finally question
our worlds existence.

but I simply can't
bring myself to awe
for a master of blood
abuse and wars

I just have one thought
that I want you to know
my faith in you left
along time a go

and even standing here
won't make you exist.
there is no grand creator
just a disastrous myth.

I could of ended it all.
One phrase. not long enough to be a typical, acceptable sentence.
the power of words is astounding.
with just a couple, I could of broken your heart and my own and changed our lives forever.
with just one sweeping statement.
and what's worse is

I wanted to.

and that scares me.
the words scare me.