Others had a way with words,
see , they had thought my scars were burns.
Burns from the flames of my recklessness at work.
But really, insomnia was my employer because every night I had to be on time to the schedule beneficial to its needs.
Because you see, insomnia was in love with depression,
oh how they made sleepy eyes seem to gleam.
Weakness in standing and shaky hands worth having.
Danced across my skin ,skates like razors ,
performances with roses.
I always found the thorns, they were in my head.
Crucified for feelings I never could truly understand , I told people I was dieing.
But all I wanted was for someone to hold my hand.

Morning breath and the wrap around of your vast landscape you called your tempel.
The warmth from your sun you held so deeply within you could warm me on the coldest night.

I could not comprehend how others did not see the grand and complex galaxy you are .

But still I was happy to have such a view to myself.

Sleep well my love
I can not wait to see your sunrise tomorrow

A letter from you to me.
I never opened it.
I just sat wishing you'd just send a post card so I could see it for what it was.
I didn't want to rip the seem that your lips and tongue once danced across.
Because there would be another delivery soon.

I wish I was just the wind,
moving through everyone giving them life, creating power with my strength.
Instead I'm nothing more then a handheld fan, used by those who only need temporary relief,
constantly dieing
without any positive charge.
I could be the sky, vast but the meaning swallow .
when I'm only the atmosphere polluted With everyone's skeleton blocking the stars.
I could've also been what you wanted.
But then again I never was.

I hate when I over sleep, I hate when I don't sleep enough. Because one reminds me of you, while the other is just of us. Your stain on my pillow, but you haven't been here for weeks. the stains on my pillow, I'm talking about the tears running down my cheeks.
-lexandra