there was a moment in time
when death sat beside me on a park bench
and he had rested his hand on the gap between us

i,

too,

rested my hand there
and brushed my fingers against his

and for a chaste moment
i savoured the warmth of his skin
and intertwined my hand with his

but he stood up

and left

and maybe he knew,

it was for the better.

the moon writes its poetry for the sun
the sun writes its songs for the moon
they write for each other
because they know that when they meet
it will last only as long as a chaste kiss.

All the acrid smoke
And dust of the world
Fills my lungs
Burning
Burning like a fire
I can taste the sulfur on my tongue
And feel the charcoal sticking to my fingertips
I look around
And all I see is a wasteland.

she's so pretty
the way her smile lightens up the room
to how her hair sways when she walks
to the little things she does that make my heartbeat sky rocket
she fills my stomach with butterflies
i'd be lying if she didn't make me cry a little inside
but she's so pretty it hurts
everything about her makes my chest ache
from the way she laughs, the sweetness of its sound
to the way her gentle voice says my name
the little things she does make my poor heart throb
even thinking about her makes me want to sob
she's so pretty.

I'm an Icarus in the sky
Leave me to fall
I know what I've done
I flew too close
But it had called my name
Chanted it
Sung it, like a song
And I knew I had to
I knew its rays would burn the flesh of my body
But I'll bathe in them
For the only thing I want to feel when I die
Is the warmth of the sun
Against my skin.

A single sunflower
Its brothers and sisters have withered away
But it continues to rise and grow
And when the time comes, it shall bloom and turn its head to the sky
To follow the sun.

There are certain things that are easy to understand but are hard to accept
And there will always be the guilt that comes with it
And maybe the ignorant should stay ignorant
Because then they wouldn't know what hurts.

Sometimes it's having trouble falling asleep
Sometimes it's having trouble waking up
Sometimes it's sleeping the entire day
Sometimes it's waking up at ungodly hours
Sometimes it's eating everything in your fridge in one sitting
Sometimes it's not eating anything at all
Sometimes it's blood stains
Sometimes it's bruises
Sometimes it hurts
Sometimes it's numb
Sometimes it's running until you can't breathe
Sometimes it's being motionless for days on end
Sometimes it's the feeling of a blade
Or lukewarm water
Sometimes it's how hard you grip your pen
Or the balled up, crumpled pieces of paper
Sometimes it's watching every move you make in the mirror
Sometimes it's not looking your reflection in the eyes
Sometimes it tastes sweet
Sometimes bitter
Or salty
Or sour
Sometimes it's the cold feeling of the floor against your back
Sometimes it's the soft mattress you lay your head on in slumber
Sometimes it's the day
The afternoon
The night
Sometimes it's the guilt
The wrath
The fright
Sometimes it's clear as can be
Sometimes it's all fogged
Sometimes it's doing everything at once
And sometimes it's doing nothing at all.

There's a word for this.