the worst part is when
my memories of you twist into
what i've see in pictures and then
when i think of you, i can't tell whether
it's the you i know or the one from the pictures

I have folded up into myself

It was not a sudden, triggered shift

It was gradual
Painstakingly gradual

I was forced to sit idly by as I watched parts of myself begin to disappear and my voice evanesce and my mouth draw itself shut.

Now I grieve the me we all used to know
And love

I'm still here?

she walks with an imperceptible weight on her shoulders
the silent suffocation

i think there's a peculiar beauty in sadness
not the frowning, shallow, petty sadness
i mean the heavy, consuming, profound sadness
the type of sadness that ingrains itself in every aspect of life
devouring all light and pureness with dark veins of pulsing grief
but,
there is a beauty in that.
there is a special beauty in heartbreak, abandonment, grief
because you cared
a lot
and enough
for it to hurt you stab you destroy you
when that love was gone
there is a strange beauty in the way your eyes leak
for whispers of the past, an escape from the present, for salvation from the future
you can plead you can beg you can get down on your knees and sob, but,
there is a beauty in you that will never cease