Walking in the rain she told me
Hold on to the better things
Funny when the better things
Talk about the better things
New weather
Now I'm wishing I could do better
It's a trend setter for the
Up-and-coming go-getter
Now I'm on the train
No one has a song to sing
Looking at their phones
Waiting for a ring
Ghost vibrations haunting
Pockets of the less patient
Time for restart
Time for back to basics
Admittedly I'm falling into that category
Remember last November?
You said it's better for me
The leaf colors always try to teach a lesson
Paying for mistakes
When I should have paid attention

There is no blood between us.

We were not fire and we were not fireworks.
We were not whirlwinds or hurricanes,
we were not storms or lightning or free falling through thunder.
You were a lesson I needed to learn, and I was a dream you needed to leave behind.
Well, I have lived our lies long enough and you have learned to swallow my stark realities
and neither of us really wanted to hold on to prayers of pretend.

And this means goodbye.

.

I'm scared that one day,
everything I've been through;
all of the bad things I've done,
all the trauma
And shock
I've set aside,
will feast
their revenge on me
once i'm weak and vulnerable.

I'm scared of going insane
from all that I've been through.
I'm afraid of idle moments
at night when I'm alone
with my thoughts
because that's when all of the bad things I did,
play back over and over
behind my eyes uncontrollably.  

Right now I still manage
to hold my walls in tact
from the past's force of entry.
But I know
this enemy I've created  
is strong;
possibly stronger than me.

And every night
I close my eyes
in fear;
for I feel
my walls
slowly slithering cracks
whilst the memories
grow stronger
And i, weaker.

I'm afraid of crumbling
and letting my past eat
my sanity.
I know it will come soon
if I don't do anything about it.

But that's precisely it
... I don't know what to do about it.

To read and write,
listen and speak.
C.S Lewis understood,
we read to know that
we are not alone.
Define Fiction?
Bukowski set em straight,
Fiction is an improvement on life.
There is no money in poetry,
But then there's no poetry in money,
Either.
Without it though,
Without     them.
Nothing.