You became a better man from the fruit of my suffering.

It added some color to your cheeks though you still had pieces of me in your teeth..

I stuck with you through hues of red and blue, and for a time I was bright and yellow...you almost wrote back in a similar color.

I’ve been with you through thick and thin, smooth and rough, loud and quiet, and we held on despite the odds we held on.

You bask in the light now, all petals anew.

What did I gain from it but except a few new scars?

Everyone now admires you.

While my color fades and shrivels, you glow in delight.

It’s my fault I’m all alone
I should have known I wasn’t the one  because you can’t stand to look at me.

I carried you high and lifted you up and I let myself drown in the process.

Coughing and gasping with an outstretched limb

I remind you of your shadow; your darkest chapters.

You’re on land and you’ve left me to rot like just another memory.

I should have realized I was just your plot device.

Maybe
Just maybe one day I'll acclimate enough little yellow butterflies in the depths of your stomach to spark words of
passion
longing
excitement
from the tips of your long capable fingers
I'll collect enough of the color yellow.
Maybe it would one day be stronger than my  growing green?
Maybe one day it will hurt less to think of you,
or to talk about you
Perhaps the yellow will give us more time
The Yellow.
more memories and laughs
to show you
That you are seen and that you are heard
And that it's no use to use your words
so many words
on earthly sun-soaked terracotta or frayed and faded blue
I look into your deep hurt eyes framed with lace and promises
I gave you red and I'm painting with yellow now
please accept my yellow
I grew it in my chest just for you
Just to plant the warm glowing cocoons deep into your stomach
Hoping
They just might become butterflies and we can live our lives together hand-in-hand.
Maybe once they emerge it won't hurt so much anymore and you will smile.
And maybe, just maybe after a while you'd realize you don't need to keep using your words for girls who never cared to hear your heart that beated yellow with all it's might
Who never reciprocated with the strength of the yellow you gave them.
My chest
it now hums and glows with much yellow
a perfect place to rest your head, my Love.

I will never be enough for anyone I adore.

I am solid and hard. Stone.
Hot-- filled with tension
My restless burning body ebbs  and flows with brightness.
Slow turning embers of excitement.
Your soft wet lips mold and mash themselves into my form
Cool, sharp, teeth sinking.
Releasing
Steam hissing and emerging as embers of my glowing figure float upward into the ceiling.
Tensions are easing as you keep squeezing.
Gasping
I feel my eyes widen and thighs tighten.
Realizing
I am no statue of hardened magma.
Your fingers caress the hills and valleys of my  body.
Breathy sighs, pleading eyes, squeezing at the thickness of thighs
I remember at your grasping  hands of hunger
I remember
I remember that I am soft.

I pack my bag. A girl approaches me.
"I love your jacket! "
/I hate my life./
"Thank you! Me too!"                  
I hurriedly make my way across the side walk.
" I really like your boots."    
/I really don't like being alive./
" Thanks! They were at Target!"
I glance at my tattered agenda.
" I wish I could do make up like you!"
/I wish I would get hit by a car. /
"Aww, thanks! You can always try watching YouTube makeup tutorials for help!"            
/I seriously need help./
I scribble doodles in the margins of my notes.
" I wish I could draw like you!"
/I wish I could have my life together./
" Thanks, but it's  predominantly in practicing. Draw like you, instead!"
I crumple papers with shaking hands.
" I dig your sense of style."                
/ I wish I had my sense of direction./
"Thanks, that makes me feel nice!"
I dig the dirt beneath my jagged nail.
" You always look so cute."
/ I always look for reasons to not **** myself./
"Awh, thanks! I try."
I slouch into a computer chair.
"You look tired."
/I'm tired of  my life./
" I'm actually not. I just have naturally dark circles under my eyes, is all."
I glance up at a familiar face.
"How are you?"
/I'm drowning./
"I'm ...surviving. ."

and it's empty and cold.
So a reflection, actually.
I send  you my love
I care for you so much and I am delicate with you.
but...
I am a screaming heart
being muffled and drained by indifference and the sound of bitter static
I love you madly
I want to hold you when you cry and make you *** and sigh..
yet I feel like a fool when I do this all
and I draw and I draw forever....
When there's no wool from you to keep me warm and no warm returns of my letters.
The inside of my chest is becoming hollow because I gave too much.

My car is safe. It’s small and warm, and no one can hurt me if I’m just sitting in here, parked.
It's a mechanical womb I take refuge in when the world is just too much.
I turn on the heat slightly with a nudge of my cold fingers and let the warm air hold me; comfort me.
I am cradled in the driver's seat and soft voices of static offer their company.
I nestle myself in the warm velvety darkness  of this womb and place my hands over my chest.
I feel my own heart beating.
The hum of the engine resonates though my spine, into my chest and whispers a lullaby... soon after I feel myself drift.

Perhaps I peered too closely into the abysmal potholes of other people’s souls
of whom I had no business pilfering through in the first place.
Now I ponder about feelings and memories that do not belong to me
some of which are long forgotten, disregarded, or even irrelevant.
Of this information that I have unearthed and processed, I know not what to do with it.
I am perpetually preoccupied with what lies beneath the surface point, which is what pushes me forward, yet could propel me to my downfall.
I just sit here and anxiously ponder this arcane information I acquiesced
through means not noble to my standard of normal morals.
There is nothing else to do.
For I rest here in the realm of reality.
This is no novel of fiction for me to figure out.
I can’t flip through the pages of people’s plights.
Something like that does not fall within my rights.
I am a mere meddling mortal amongst other mortals.
I am no god who sits proudly upon their plethora of others’ secrets.

I am just another human being.

I am ****** to repel my lovers.
I am ****** to love more than the other.
I love too **** hard. I give too much of myself.
I splatter myself on walls and my excess dribbles though the cracks

and spills over great spaces.
I don’t know what it is to be subtle or gentle.

All this hurt that I’ve known to be a constant truth                        
has made me timid and infantile in nature.
I’m impulsive and thoughtless…and shaken.
I love too **** hard. My hands are covered in grime from the guts of all the beautiful butterflies that I have crushed in my life.
I cannot wash the guilt  from my encrusted fingers.
I’m trembling. I beg, I plea for the butterflies to perch here.
Even though I know I am not a safe place to stay…
Time and time again I can hear my beloved ones crunch in my grasp
I wince with guilt and do it once more.

Yet still I try. Yet I still think I can make myself better.
Who am I to believe such lies?
Who am I to drag someone into this sick, selfish, and perverse mess?
Who am I?
Did I ever have fingers in the first place? Perhaps they were claws.
Maybe I’ve been a malicious spider from the start.

Born from hatred and ****** to give into hunger.
I’ve been fooling these poor creatures that I can be something else.

It is now beyond question what I am.

I am rotten at my core.

Let justice be served for those who have been burned.
I am rotting.

Let the insects take me over.

Let them exact their revenge on my corpse.

I had it coming all along.

I really wish I didn’t give a **** about so many things.
    I care about things and people that I really should not care about. It isn’t good for my health.
    It’s  absolutely exhausting.
    It wears down on my soul.
    Over time I’ve realized that my soul is like an old ***** dish rag that has been tossed and burned and wrung out too many times by too many people I’ve cared for.
    I’ve had many people go down the wrong road in life and become shells of who they once were
    …I’ve had too many die.
    I’ve reached out far too many times and each time my hand gets burnt.
    I’m absolutely exhausted and I can’t learn from all the times I’ve been burned.
    I’m becoming uncomfortably numb to these situations.
    Someone may die tonight…” oh…”
    Yeah, You know what they say, right?
    ”You can lead a horse to water, but you cant make em’ drink.”
    All my life I’ve been trying to force horses to drink the ****** water and I have to sit there and watch them shrivel up and die right in front of me. Time and time again.
    "Get up, ******* it! PLEASE get up! All You have to do is ******* drink this! Do you hear me? I’m trying to help you! PLEASE GET UP!"
    …Do you have any idea what that’s like?
    I feel like a fool who should stop fighting.