Every breath I managed to take,
felt worst than the pain losing you made.
****** concrete is the only portrait I can paint,
but I can't count the times I've ended up with your face on the page.
I'm sorry I can't remember things for ****,
then again, you didn't remember I loved you,
so, am I the one to blame for this?
maybe if I think too much, I won't think at all,
but honestly, I've thought so much I've made a stall,
yet broken through, and ****** my hand up on the drywall.
Haven't eaten in a mere six days,
but I've gotten use to knodding off and these delusions set to daze.
I ******* hate dropping my cigarettes,
and I love the rain, but I hate getting wet.
Don't ask me questions cause I don't ******* know.
Dig into me, settle under the surface.
Work your way in depth to me.
It's falling apart and I'm breaking down,
like ashes colliding into the ground.
Never thought complete silence could create such shuddering sound.
My mind's running circles but my stomach can't keep up with the round n round.
Rading cabinets and getting caught up in the sound of the bottle,
savoring what I reluctantly found.
A few for the memories, a few to pass the time and a few to wash em down.
My skin is crawling, stinging, itching to open up,
just for you to lore inside.
Crawl beneath, sink and hide.
Dig in deep, and dwell within.
Scratching, scratching,
yea, digging through skin.

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will never die (quoted)

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
embodied in words

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
stretched over lines and pages

Now,

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their untamed mind
becomes an asylum where
words smash themselves
on the walls of their brains
summoning
their hands just
to let them out

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their addiction
to falling in love is amplified
and when they love
OH THEY LOVE,
they get a certain high
that numbs their inhibitions to reality
and shuns logic to a very far away land

they  reach a mental state
that lifts you to high enough
just to see a glimpse of their world
just to taste a drop of their
potion
but not all of it

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their eye *****
birth and harness flames that burn the coldest
of hearts and warm the strongest
of selves

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their mind soaks up
every bit, every breath
every call, every cell
every touch, every talk
just to embroider it
in the quilt of thought
that's weaving endless stories about you
in their mind

What if a writer falls in love with you?
God have mercy on their soul
for their craving becomes dangerously
intensified, wrapping itself
to their muses,
giving them the sole purpose
of existing

For the more they love
the more stories they write
and more they feel
the longer
they
live

...my mom tells me as she tucks me to sleep.
Her eyes are bright blue with similarities to the Tenerife Sea. Solid, bright but with an icy touch. I believe her.
Then my eyelids flutter open after a kiss and I stare into a young man’s brown eyes. Solid, deep, full, sincere, warm. I trust him more than I should.
My own eyes aren’t that easy to decode. They’re a complete mess.
A chaos of color conflicting with eachother, instead of settling on one.
Blue when I wake up,but  green when I step outside.  
If eyes really are the windows to the soul what does that say about me?
Am I splatters of different colors floating around like petals in a mysterious endless lake in the forbidden part of the forest?
Am I a rainbow only to be seen clearly when both rain and sun hits upon me?
Am I a bouquet filled with different flowers plucked different places with different stories?
Forests are easy to get lost i.
Lakes are easy to drown in.
Rainbows are not tangible.
Flowers are pretty but their lifespan is short after having been plucked.
I wish I wasn’t a chaotic mess.
That I wasn’t torn in between the things I want, the things I can, the things I have, the things I want to be.
I hope that one day my eyes and mind will make up their will.
But for right now, I my eyes may stay a chameleon.
Only seen by those who really see.

your teeth on my neck made me only want more.
now, the worse sound youve made is a step out the door.
what else could you rip from me?
my knees are already on the floor.
i just miss the feeling of your teeth
and the love that had faith in its lasting.
this is just another nightmare passing, i can make it through.
though its so hard when my dreams were you too.

finally i feel what i've been in search of for years, serenity.
now, i don't feel so off balance, you grace me with stability.
finding a comfort in the chaos upon laying eyes on you.
grateful for your serendipitous appearance in a world that's given me nothing but omittance.
the light that i've been emitting has finally found purpose in your existence.

When did conversation become argumentation?
This form of abuse derived from self irritation,
just drives me in the opposing direction of where you'd like me to go,
there's many destinations that I haven't been shown,
cultivation leading me to venture on my own.
You push and shove for me to grow up already,
but agitation won't make it easier to speed through others lined up in front of me.
If you could just see how much I've been through,
most of it alone, if you could view just how far I've kept motivation,
then someday we might actually get close to were we've been heading this whole time.
Line after line and you have yet to add any up,
you haven't seen my determination, for you just blame it on luck.
Whim did consideration become mediation?
I've lived every waking moment, just for your approbation,
now, everything I've done is incorrect?
The treacherous miles I've overcome are now obliviation I'm your head,
every turn I make just ends up being another mistake.
Something along the lines of aggretion,
which in turn left us were we orginally started, or stopped.
You always try and take me where you want me though I've come so far already.
Sometimes the places you unexpectedly end up are where you're actually supposed to be.

You've been gone for so long
Or maybe it was I this time.
It's hard to say that I'm wrong,
when I've just wanted to be right.
As you light your cigarette,
does it taste like things used to?
It all change so suddenly,
but that's what it's supposed to do.
Orders meant to be followed, not taken.
Maybe all the words exchanged were just mistaken.
You can't say thank you if your mouth's already full.
Pretending you aren't broken doesn't fill the hole,
But creating false presentation does grow old.