I was lonely so I thought of spending time with you
I was sad so I thought I should go hug you
I was grieving so my thoughts thought of you
But all those led to you
and I can't kiss or pet this candle.

She's on life support, what does that mean?
Does she still have a chance?
How much of a chance?
Was it an overdose?
Is she still alive?
No brain activity?
She died?

I didn't even say goodbye.
I didn't even say hello.
I didn't say anything to her for years.
I couldn't...

Should I've?
Should I go her funeral?
Would it be right?

My chest spasms...
Tightening vessels resemble bricks
Who knew that memories could feel so heavy
My eyes close for a moment
Flashes of your faces yank violently onto my optic nerves
While my brain attempts to circumnavigate
Turn regret into something easier said than done
My fists clench feeling hot and cold simultaneously
Air rushes into my wrinkled lips
While I breathe NEARLY all of this lingering essence out
Out of my lungs
And I try yet again to return to earth
Hearing an emphatic rhythmic pump
and your well–intentioned attempt to turn words into quietude

My written words are a true reflection of myself.
Stop reading the words, and look at them close.
They don’t follow grammatical rules a lot of the time, and they don’t believe in ******* censorship.
They don’t believe in editing, re writing, or organizing.
They are a jumbled mess of run on sentences with no controlling rules or principles to give order to.
And I love to break even the most deeply rooted rules, like not starting a sentence with And or But.
Seriously, words are my weapons and I can cut through the ******* and break through to a higher meaning.