when the only thing
illuminating the world
are the stars who live
life times away
and the moon
who gracefully rules
everything beneath her
and the weight on my chest
begins to increase so subtly
until I am being fully crushed underneath it
laying there as the whisps of forgotten dreams
are pushed out of me
and my heart struggles to continue beating
the simple thought of your crystal eyes
returns some feeling into the tips
of my fingers that tingle as humanity
begins to flow within them again
you feel like breathing in a world
that thrives on asphyxiating dreamers

let him go
gently, gently now
let his footsteps echo
as he walks away
embrace the sound
and swallow down all the things
you'd love to say
this time, what is lost will not be found
let your freedom sing.

from the evergreen trees
to the dead and decomposing leaves
of trees that just don't stick around
the pitter patter, that silent sound
of the fall of rain, the drip of tears
the feathers of these past years
pluck away, **** the days
that you wasted with him
there must be some way
to shadow the agony with a graceful grin

do not drown yourself
in drink
do not harm yourself
in what you think
because the sun will rise,
the sun will fall
the world will surprise
by taking all
that you had

it might not be eloquent,
but these are instructions
on how to live with a broken heart
your fingers, your words will not mend
only time will tell

he will walk away
with a lack of empathy
he will never say
that you are what he needs.

accept, regret, and see what comes next
these words are yours to protect.

Tears under lamplight, so often called silver.
as if you think they're precious, or beautiful.
As if my pain makes me special, or radiant.
As if this is something rare, like it doesn't happen so often.
You think my tears make me unique, like no one else has ever been
Radiant in quicksilver, and no one else's shoulders have trembled
Under the burden of these sharp reflections of light
that adorn my face.
like the fluid sparkle of my eyes in this moment
is unprecedented and will not be repeated
thousands of millions of times over
so many people, so many faces.
So much glistening pain.

But this is not the first time
And it is far from the last
for me, or any of the others.
My tears are not silver, they are not precious.
They are not beautiful.
My blood has turned to water
and life has whipped me in the face
until I have overflowed and I bleed,
staining everything with the liquid pain
pouring out of the tracks cut through my trembling flesh.
You are so close to the truth
     (If I heated silver, if I stuck it to my cheeks
      if I watched the flesh burn and embraced the pain
      everyone who cared to look would see and the marks
      would not fade for a long time
      or ever.)
But so far from it
     (If I heated silver, if I melded it to my face
      if I adorned myself in refractions of glory
      I might be able to walk with pride.
      Everyone could see me, resplendent
      and I would embody strength
      and not hatred of my own weakness.)

I'll show you what love is
love is the scars he traced into your skin
  love is the ***** you expelled in your haste to forget
   love is filthy
Love is ***** like the socks you left under his bed,
love is rotten like what's left of what was
  love is the way you turned around and walked away
so as not to show him your tears
Love is the first tear that fell,
the last tear to drip
love is the blood spilled
over him
  love is every word the pen has scrawled
about him
   love is in your dreams,
awake or asleep
    love is the martyr
that brought us no relief.