I don't remember the last time of real heartbreak.
I remember losing loyalty, losing interest.
Things don't always work, or resentment's mistake.
But I can't remember when I ever felt shattered
From the mere idea of living without someone.
Like my entire being tattered, pieces in the wind scattered.
Like some whole void of emptiness;
Everything gouged out of me like it never even mattered.
I remember being abandoned.
I remember being alone.
But I can't remember feeling like my life left too,
Like it was never even my own.
I guess I wanted it to be ours instead.
I guess I wanted too much.
I guess there was no "destiny's red thread."
I wish I didn't still yearn for your touch.
I don't know what to do with a life without you.
I was told I had so much ahead,
But from where I am, I can hardly move.
How long would it take to forget?
Is that even something on which I can bet?
I don't think I've ever felt real love for someone
So selflessly, so hopefully,
Like I did this less year.
How long will it take to live a life without you
When I'm surrounded by distraught and fear?
You were the water to my flowers,
You were the northern star in my nights,
You were the fire in my engine.
But now it's dark and you're nowhere in sight.
What is a life worth if not for love?
In which direction do I go?
This fever wears me, my mourning dove.
But I will make it through the night,
If only to anticipate
A notification's gentle light.

As I wake in my sheets,
Aggravated anxiety.
Blue light peeks, reminding me of my impropriety
Of the night before.
Like the melted ice throne in the last layer of fire,
My thoughts agonize.
I became the prosecutor when I was the prosecuted liar.
These ordinary overcast mornings
Are my favorite to step in to.
The city smells ripe,
And I think of it with you.
But I will go to trace my patterns
Worn into my body.
Another weekday in which I tread.
Reading messages unread,
Apprehending what’s next.
Life doesn’t need explanation,
Only bread.
But I will stop to worry those worries
Worn into my body
And only hope there may come a palm to press into my spine
With a touch so fine to entwine
A belonging, a needing, into my mind.

The wicks have disappeared under the wax.
The strings only groan untuned noise.
The color has drained to desaturated blacks.
What is a flower with rotted petals if not a ****?
Nothing grows here, not a single seed.
Leave the wasted garden, place the candles in the drawer.
The piano's more desirable when it's not touched anymore.

Every day I give up a little bit more.
I see the end so certainly.
There's nothing else to really live for.
It becomes easier to let go,
As I sit here alone
Writing about what I've wanted
And being worn of wanting more.
                                                           ­           Every day it gets a little easier
                                                          ­             To take another step forward.
                                                  Whethe­r or not I fall apart the later night,
                                                          ­           I still got through another day.
                                                            ­        I walk into a direction in which
                                                           ­                                 I can be proud of.
                                                             ­                 I have so much to live for.
                                                                   I've to keep opening new doors.
But I can't go without;
I can't lose it all again.
The pain is too much and it feels as if
I'd rather have nothing at all,
But the silence of death.
I would die where no one could see;
No one could know.
                                                  Every day I find love for the littler things.
                                            I appreciate so much more than I had before.
                                                         ­              I find brilliance in your smile.
                                                          ­   And I find motivation in your fight.
                                                          ­                 And inspiration in my soul,
                                                           ­                      So I keep taking control
                                                                ­            Of what I know I could be.
The world grows blacker every day.
People feel further and further away.
I used to belong--
I thought I did, anyway.
I never did though, and I know this the most.
I just wish I had chosen a better path so, so long ago.
Because people will not choose for you,
And it's okay if I go it alone.
                                                          ­       The sunrise still wakes me gently
                                                         And the small sound of your tugging.
                                                        ­                   I raise to a voice calling me.
                                                             ­                   When I go to it, I belong.
                                                         ­ Then I see the people around me too.
                                                         They've been waving this whole time.
                                                           ­         I didn't think it'd be so easy for
                                                                ­ The sleep to break from my eyes.
But the nights are the blackest of all.
I hear nothing but my thoughts.
They shake my shoulders violently.
They tell me, "Nothing is true
Nothing is sacred
Nothing is here for you."
And I am not here for anything.
The nightmares follow just the same.
                                                           ­              The morning still follows;
                                                        ­                      The sun will still come.
There is no love in those mornings,
But I am still here.
                                                           ­              The morning still follows.
But it does not matter anymore.
I can't be anything than what I am.
I cannot try anymore.
                                                        ­             But the morning still follows...
                                                      ­                                  And I am still here.