Everyone says love comes with pain,
As if its impossible for there to be sun without rain
But to me, that just can not be right
For love is good, purer than light.

What hurts is when that love is gone.
That is when you wish you could run.
You want to catch it, hold it, keep it.
But trying to hard will only break it.

Do not blame love when you are broken
For it's your own fault for always hoping.
Love does not hurt, it heals a broken heart.
For its the absence of love that tears it apart.

Do not blame love when you are in pain,
It is not the sun that makes it rain.
Instead blame the person who took love away
That's how you were broken, there is no other way.

When nothing feels right,
And home seems to be far away,
It’s you; it’s you I want to look for.
When the world turns its back on me,
And no one thinks I’m able,
It’s you; it’s you I find my strength in.
When I can’t hold my excitement
And my happiness is unbound,
It’s you; it’s you I want to be with.
When the world is ending,
Like they say it will,
It’s you, it’s you
I want to be holding.

I've missed this
The loud music
The wind blowing in our faces
The sense of not caring
Not caring about tomorrow
Or the next day
Only knowing
That this
Is what matters
What really matters is
Now

One sentence and the insecurities fly.
The questions spin around my head.
Why?
Why?
Why?
What did I do wrong?
Pounding against my skull.
Unanswered questions,
Questions that I cant ask, for fear of more pain.
Why?
Why?
Whywhywhywhywhy...
The same question over and over.
My stomach turning and my eyes welling up with tears I don't have reason or answers for.
I'm feeling small and hurt, crushed, but Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?

The angst ripped through her body, devouring her thundered tension.
Controlling her thoughtless mind; whispering spells of mystique affection.

The sounds were magnified by the wooden floorboards;
As if the beats demanded a heated encore-
of momentous-spirit and sickening limits.  

The noise became deafening,
as if it were necessary.

Waiting for the perfect time;
To shut her down …
and watch her cry.

I reassemble,
The wind flows backwards to your hands,
I am returning from whatever version of “beyond” you choose to believe,
Each particle caring a manifest blessing back with it.
Perhaps tears flow up your face, retracing the progression of grief down your cheek.
Or maybe I was an awful at the end and in rewind you whisper “dead is ***** old that god thank.”
But either way that is the past… or the future,
It isn’t prudent to examine such distinctions now
It’s movement not direction that matters.
My form is re-forged by fire,
My bones smoothing in the heat
My flesh hardens from liquid to coalesce around my uncooking muscles,
And still I rewind,
Personality and character drifting through the cobweb wrinkles of my skin,
Till somewhere in the dynamo of my body my heart finally beats its last “*** ba”… and then it’s second to last.
How strange is a life lived backwards?
Would words taste different in my mouth, have new meaning in rewind,
Would I find satanic messages in my everyday phrases or just speak in nonsense, a string of “a-blah-blah” that takes too long to be made sense of.
How different would my actions be?
My hands could peel away bruises,  unbreak eggs, and **** insults out of the air
Yet who would be responsible for these miracles,
Some dreadful foreword version of myself.

She lives a quiet life,
she tiptoes around,
she whispers when she speaks,
she hardly ever makes a sound.

Although her words are quiet,
her mind is very loud.
She has so much to say,
but no one listens for soft sounds.

She's an invisible girl,
who doesn't want to stand out,
she just wants to be heard,
without having to shout.

Sometimes the loudest people,
aren't saying much at all.
Empty words and promises,
just leave their mouths and fall.

But whispered words fly high,
and catch peoples attention,
they're intriguing, so amazing,
but only when they listen.

So look outside the spotlight,
because often the real star,
isn't anyone on stage,
but the mind behind it all.