when you left, things were such a ******* mess. everything hurt and neither of us knew what to do, so you left me in a state of disaster, frantically running around searching for you in my mind even though i know you aren't there.
but what really kills me is that you said you would stay with me through everything, and you had the audacity to leave right when things got bad. i needed you and you weren't there, even though you said you would be.
now i'm left listening to sad, miserable songs and writing ****** poems to try and make up for your loss.

i always thought
you were thru traffic
that you were just jet lag
background noise
the kiss in the rain
i've never had
but what if you aren't?
what if this
was the thousandth time
i have loved you?
what if this is just a fresh coat of paint?
what if god
keeps a handkerchief
soaked in the day we met
next to his bed?
maybe theres a reason
i reach for no one in bed
the way i would
if someone used to be there
you know, they say
the road behind us
is littered with things
we couldn't hold onto
i wonder how many times
you've slipped through my hands
like hour glass sand
do you know
how much erosion you've caused?
i heard cupid
stopped keeping count
of how many times
we came together
just to come apart again
maybe it was just a rumor
it makes me think
about how many times
i've almost had you
like if all this talk
about history repeating itself
endlessly replaying is true
i wonder how many times
things have happened already
like the time
i tried talking you
into loving me back
back fired
or the time i could have sworn
jesus & lazarus were playing chess
with my heartbeat
but it was only you smiling
how many times
have i tried to tell you
how many times
have you read this poem
how many times
have i tried not to meet you
in my dreams anymore
it's like sleep tries to warn
me of what's happening
before it does but
i keep having this dream
where i tell you bedtime stories
and each one
is a different way you die
and in every one
i can never save you
it's like you're this song
i have on repeat
and every time it starts over
i forget the words
it's like you picked up the book entitled "us"
and the back cover
said you'd leave
so you never bothered reading it
tell me you aren't
going back in that bookstore
just to do it again
or will you tell me tomorrow?
or is this the time
you don't say anything at all?
if this has all happened before
if we call it quits
before we begin
again
from the beginning
i just want to ask you
to be my fire
because i am tired
of these old lives
and i'd like to see them
burn

Sometimes I tell myself that it's okay to feel this way,
that God gets tired too,
that sometimes He is the small child
slaving over a sewing machine
turning thread into warmth,
but not every sweater He makes
is made without a few loose strings,
or pockets sewn shut
or mismatched buttons.
My knees sink into the end of my bed
as I rest my elbows on my window sill.
I think as our hands face each other
and touch for the millionth time,
it's like a silent clap
that only the angels can here,
sometimes I apologize
to those resting in peace
for making their home sound more like
the ending of the movie
instead of the end of the book.
I greet God the same way
I greet your headstone.
I ask Him how He is,
why He only speaks in light,
and then I pretend to talk to Him,
when really I am talking to myself
or your headstone...again.
I say, "It's okay to feel this way.
I think it's okay to watch,
to write in depth about strangers,
I think it's okay to detach
yourself from the weight of existing.
Everyone around me built
themselves kingdoms,
they kept fire breathing dragons,
rolled out their drawbridges like red carpets
and I built myself a cardboard castle.
I built it on the highest hill
with a view of all of the kingdoms
and you know what?
I was alone,
but I had room to breathe
and sometimes that's all  you can ask for;
an empty room with a closed door
and open window.
I said grace at dinner earlier,
but I said it out of tradition,    
not out of genuine thankfulness.
So, thank you for the empty room
with the closed door and open window,
I know you're tired,
I hope you can respond when you get a chance."

this is the first time I've been able to write about you in a year, and hurts more with every character that I type.
you used to bring me joy and happiness, and now you bring me feelings of sorrow, pain, anxiety and depression. i'm still trying to figure out how that is possible, especially coming from you.
when we were still together, I used to lie awake at 4AM thinking about how much I love you, and how much it would hurt to lose you. i used to dream of owning a beautiful home on the lake with you, and every morning, I could roll over either way and see a beautiful sight.
on my left; a glistening lake
on my right; the love of my life
now, I lie awake at 2AM wondering what went wrong and how much I miss you. quite a transition, isn't it?

I have periods where I do not speak to anyone / days when I cannot haul myself out of my own bed / nights when I curl up and feel like fading into the night as a ghost /I'm sorry I cannot be a better person to / and for you / because the truth of the matter is that I haven't felt / like a person at all in an incredibly long time / I enjoy the feeling of being hollow inside / like the world has carved my insides out / I do not remember what it is like not to have demons sitting on my shoulder or / voices in my head I'd rather hear than the voices of my own few friend/s