every quaking breath,
every flash of memory,
every little puzzle piece
I could never make fit -

absence, too, is a gift.

we take what we can get
but the well never fills -
water slips through fingers
and again and again
we are left begging
with open, empty hands.

sometimes I can't help feeling this
is the dream, the one where I relive
my entire life, just before I die.

i feel at odds with the existence,
lingering somewhere between
this is where i'm meant to be
and i do not belong here.  

i feel strongly anchored in some
memories, like i'm dreaming and
i can't wake up, like this is the worst
high and i'm stuck in the comedown.

i woke up different on the bathroom floor,
a different person, a different energy
and i'm still struggling to understand
if i woke up better or worse
or if i ever woke up at all.

it runs in circles
around my head
can't let go
can't breathe
can't say it
can't take it
the carousel
never stops
turning

knock down one wall
just to find another.
i am no architect
but i have managed
to build myself a fortress,
the initials of all my pain
carved into each layer.
it'll be a miracle
if i ever find myself free.

I am so, so afraid
I've already given all
the love I had to give.
burned out, ash,
wax on the table,
nothing left to give
the hearts that have
the misfortune
to love mine after
the years of bleed and
leech. I am spent,
isolated ache,
want and crave and
empty space. I promise
I tried, I'm trying,
I'm trying.