I want to tell him
that I’m scared,
that I’ve been here before.
And that the last time I felt potential like this it imploded;
I imploded.
But I don’t want to taint it,
You see I’m still hopeful
That maybe this time
Won’t end up laced with maybes,
Or what ifs,
Or open wounds pouring blood onto paper.
That maybe this time,
just won’t end.

I’ve not quite worked out whether I think it’s beautiful,
Or stupid -
The human capacity,
And pliancy,
And longing,
For love.

You cant save my life
I am drawn
drawn in my own pain

You cant make me happy
I am covered
Covered with my own grief

You cant read me
I am written in the paper
damped by my own tears

It's the strangest thing
To think you're in love
And then in the end
To not really know what it was.
In the end you start to question
"Does love even exist"?
Because I swear I think I would have
felt it by now if it did.
In the end one mans' hurt weighed on you
Reminds you of all the others
And how they all turned out to be
No different than each other.
In the end you see no light
But that's normal and that's okay
Because soon you will see a new light again
And you will forget all this pain.
That smile to come in the future
Will be worth all this mess
And so just remember these things, my dear
When you start to feel down and distressed.

every day, speak a little less
reduce the number of words you say from half to
ten less, and then none at all.

Don't forget to be soft.
Kiss your mountaintop goodbye for
one last sunrise and descend
into the night
where it's quiet
like you should be.

one by one, pull back towards yourself
the orbs of energy you've left
bouncing around you in the
atmosphere.
be their chalice
one last time
and watch them burn out.

and when you're reduced to
dying ashes and deathly whispers
a strong voice will suddenly falter
and they wonder -
*didn't we once know a ... ?