You're a daunting ember
in the back of my mind.
I'm afraid you'll catch fire
to my consciousness,
smoky tendrils wrapped around memories,
your flames kissing my thoughts
like how you used to kiss me.

I miss your spark.

You're the one thing I don't talk about to my therapist.
I'm scared that if everything between us
was voiced outside of my head,
I'll believe that it's true.
I'll believe that I'm a bad person.
that I did bad things,
because I'm truly in love with you.

Pen and paper,
meet again,
in sweet love,
do they blend.
***** words of
dreamer's desires,
forming a book,
for cupid's admirers.
Pale thin skin,
covers
with ink's loving,
as the writer's heart
keeps on beating.
Even though this love
may stop at some time,
stories will always be,
a writer's valentine.

To my literary soul mate,

As your journey continues
in vast and distant lands,
I watch your life
pass in pictures and posts.
Catching a glimpse of you in
quick and witty tag lines,
of a great story yet to be told.
Ones I may never hear the words to
as life has taken us both,
down two very different paths
that may never meet at a cross road.

I just want you to know
that a heart react on a post
can only convey
so much of what I want to say.
A “hello, hey how are you?”
“I hope you are well and safe.”

I try to grow wild flowers,
in the empty spots of my chest.
The sunshine tricking my eyes
into planting seeds,
beneath clouds that have
darkened around the edge.

A hope starts to bud,
as the light breaks enough through
to sprout dreams inside my head.

And just as roots settle into place,
the loneliness cracks across my skies,
and I break.
My weathering heart opening at the seams;
I'm a storm, ready to rage.

Like the sand that slips
from tired hands and
sinks beneath my feet,
you stick between my toes,
caught in a way that
irritates me.
Until I am swept off in waves
that can rid you from my keep;
I am letting you go slowly.

I'm at war with myself.
My confidence caught in between
a battlefield of destructive choices,
defeating words and deafening voices,
that strike me down constantly.
I'm over taken by armed anxieties,
their vocalities violently shattering
any chance I've had at victory.
My white flag falling at my feet,
as I hear them scream,
"You'll never be good enough!"

My universe is collapsing
at the heart of the sun.
My skin scorched to
bare bone;
the weight of the world
coming undone.
The cells of my existence
evaporating,
as gravity pulls stardust
into my lungs.
My last breath a whisper, of
"Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

Your love is
candle wax melting
into the cracks
of the space between
my ribs and lungs;
like a cast
you harden my heart.

You pull at my flesh,
break the bone of my breast,
unlocking the chest
containing the contents of
my heart and lungs.

With frantic fingers you press,
poke and pry at my mess,
in desperate search of
the love in my blood.

Through all of your attempts,
you begin to sense
that nothing grows where
emotions should belong;
and all I do is stain your arms.

Your lips are still warm
as you kiss me
with hard whisky
and a drunken tongue.
It's always about how
much you missed me
while I was gone.

I talk about it to everyone,
in hopes that you won't
wrap around my thoughts
like the belt around your neck,
suffocating the life
out of both of our eyes.

The places you'll go,
you'll never know
what you leave behind.
Broken off bits
of my existence,
scattered across distant lines;
I'll never know what home feels like.

I have written to you,
about you,
too many times.
Wasted tired fingers
on honest lines,
waiting for you to realize
you fill up my empty life.

*I'm sick of leaving
blank spaces for you.

"Where is your heart?"
"I don't know."

---
Countless of times I have left
memories behind on doorsteps,
with bits of dried up feelings.
Because names become a mess
of dust and forgetfulness,
and only prevent myself from healing.
With no words to console my thoughts,
or a way to make it all stop,
I'll only fall from where I stand.
You'll ask me about my heart
why I always fall apart,
and I'll tell you, "That's how it's always been."

What does it feel like to be missed?
---
I often close
my eyes
and
just wonder:

What if
you could
see
what I see?

And realize
that you
really
miss me;

*Just as much as I miss you.