Sep 2013
What a day is the day that we fell apart.
What a day was the day that I felt my heart begin to beat again.
The days before were a blur of tears and mess and pain and the black that came...
before.
Before there was nothing; there was blood running down my wrists, and my lips from where I bit too hard to keep myself from screaming.
The secrets I held inside to keep the pain away from you. My ***** little vice.
The branding of myself with a match and then the fighting and yelling and worthless feelings set in from all around.
But that was before.
Then a supernova hit; it refused to let go, demanded to be seen.
His presence was ripe and I felt him as surely as the draw of oxygen into my lungs.
I learned the ways of he through long nights, and shared music, stupid inside jokes, and the way you eye a stranger you'd like to get to know.
I fell in love before I knew it.
The salvation I sought came in the form of emerald eyes, smatters of freckles, and the laughter of someone who has known true pain.
What the days have been since my world exploded into a collection of everythings and nothings and in betweens;
what a day will be the days I learn the deeper inner workings of his mind just as surely as he will come to know mine.
My days go on and on; rambling poems, and collections of words that make my heart swell like the finest symphony, and of course the minutes or days or hours or whatever where I was lost in his eyes.
What would my days have been had he not burned the impression of himself unto me?
Cold and lonely, dark and desolate; my over dramatic tendencies would know no bounds.
The blood would seep into the fabric of my life, slashing away anyone who tried to get too close.
The pain would burn bright and rare like a comet until eventually the darkness would fall and I would be alone: numb, broken, destroyed.
But every time he opens his mouth, whether it's to curl his lips upwards, or to speak with that tone I hold so dear, or to lean towards me and tangle our mouths together....
The pain recedes, my breath leaves, and I am left hoping and praying for that which is impossible even if I don't have anyone to pray to.
I pray, oh how I have prayed and wished and hoped and believed, that he will stay.
What will be the day when that eclipse that is he that lit up my life when all was empty and gone, decides to take his leave away from me and my love and heart and all my promises I dared to give to him?
The desire to burn and imprint myself so that he will ne'er forget, and every day, when he is gone, he can look back and think fondly of me and the memories that I have scratched with all my might onto his soul, that desire exists in every single pore of my body.
What a day was the day that I felt my heart begin to beat again.
The days before were a blur of tears and mess and pain and the black that came...
before.
Before there was nothing; there was blood running down my wrists, and my lips from where I bit too hard to keep myself from screaming.
The secrets I held inside to keep the pain away from you. My ***** little vice.
The branding of myself with a match and then the fighting and yelling and worthless feelings set in from all around.
But that was before.
Then a supernova hit; it refused to let go, demanded to be seen.
His presence was ripe and I felt him as surely as the draw of oxygen into my lungs.
I learned the ways of he through long nights, and shared music, stupid inside jokes, and the way you eye a stranger you'd like to get to know.
I fell in love before I knew it.
The salvation I sought came in the form of emerald eyes, smatters of freckles, and the laughter of someone who has known true pain.
What the days have been since my world exploded into a collection of everythings and nothings and in betweens;
what a day will be the days I learn the deeper inner workings of his mind just as surely as he will come to know mine.
My days go on and on; rambling poems, and collections of words that make my heart swell like the finest symphony, and of course the minutes or days or hours or whatever where I was lost in his eyes.
What would my days have been had he not burned the impression of himself unto me?
Cold and lonely, dark and desolate; my over dramatic tendencies would know no bounds.
The blood would seep into the fabric of my life, slashing away anyone who tried to get too close.
The pain would burn bright and rare like a comet until eventually the darkness would fall and I would be alone: numb, broken, destroyed.
But every time he opens his mouth, whether it's to curl his lips upwards, or to speak with that tone I hold so dear, or to lean towards me and tangle our mouths together....
The pain recedes, my breath leaves, and I am left hoping and praying for that which is impossible even if I don't have anyone to pray to.
I pray, oh how I have prayed and wished and hoped and believed, that he will stay.
What will be the day when that eclipse that is he that lit up my life when all was empty and gone, decides to take his leave away from me and my love and heart and all my promises I dared to give to him?
The desire to burn and imprint myself so that he will ne'er forget, and every day, when he is gone, he can look back and think fondly of me and the memories that I have scratched with all my might onto his soul, that desire exists in every single pore of my body.
