Sometimes I like to knock
on the closed doors
of my mind
and visit
old memories
and feel things
that only
belong to
you
&
I

He always said I was a mystery. Like reading a murderous book.

Who is the killer?

Well, it was him. He tore my heart apart with out even knowing he held it in his hands.

I bet he didn't know he was my world. That when he laughed I laughed harder, when he was sad he was a tornado and I was the city.

I held onto his hand like it was hope. The tears in his eyes were just a facade. He was a comedian I was the joke.

But, I still wobble behind you. Hoping you look back.

But, you never did.

I can feel your hold on me
You grasping me so tight that;
I am too afraid to speak.
I submit to the thoughts of you,
Just you.
Because what else am I supposed to do?
You won't let go of me so neither of us are leaving.
Always I am repeating this
Except that you know deep down:
I never mean it.