Airports are sad places
Or at least that’s how I’ve seen them
Through my fog laden eyes
Bright, florescent lighting
Lines upon lines of people excited
Or scared to death
Or drained from the previous three flights
And then there are families
Babies who look just like their adult counterparts

And then there’s me who sees you
Out of the corner of my eye
Hiding behind a pole
I’m brought back to reality again
Back to this tangible hole
I’m elated and devastated
At the same time

True tragedy seems to be
The only thing
That puts the rest of the blocks
Back into their places

But I've told you so many times
Without telling you
To say it out loud would be redundant

All of myself
That I attempt to collect
I'm left with whats only me
Bare.
In this moment I exist only for you

there are things that i love
and i think those things
are you

I've seen it all
read it all
wrote pages upon pages
trying to understand this reaction
I've had to you

I am embarrassed
for my ignorance
In regards to you
You're the same mistake
I keep making
Proving my insanity
Everytime

I've been in a hurricane
since I met you
And it's been proven that I must learn to live in this storm
Endure the fog
feel it's currents
it's waves
it's paralyzing winds
But when we're together it subsides
Everything stops
The center of the storm
And I wonder how I could ever leave
Or remember how to breathe

It alters you at your core, the inmost part of you
And expands outward into all of your limbs
Until every cell inside you
Begins to softly hum the same note

Continuously you become this-
This buzzing higher frequency
And it shines out through your eyes
Reflecting back at you
In the smiles of those who feel it too

You go back because it's comfortable
But the bed is lined with thorns
The comforter a prickley mess against your skin
Love is thick here but the trust is thin

His arms are warm around you
But something stirs inside

It remembers more than you do
A scream that dulls with every rejection
Eventually being buried
By more pleasant things

You're like a broken house
and I don't even have the strength to fix the window sills

night time is always the hardest
all of my strings
tug
all the mess of strings
i've created
some thick some thinner
tug and pull and empty me
yet fill me at the same time

One could argue happiness buffers creativity
While pain greases the slide

Love kind of feels like wine
And also like standing in front of a podium
About to give a detailed speech
On a topic you know nothing about
Naked