My head is a mess,
There is nothing to fix;
The weight or emptiness
that comes with loss
of a lover that still exists.

My mind is everywhere.
where are you?
what'd you do to me?
why is this even happening?
am i even here?

This heartbreak gave me
inspiration.
You were the beginning,
middle,
and ending of everything.
I ******* hate you,
inconsiderate *****.

You grew on me ,
I grew because of this.
The flower that I am
That you loved so much
I bloomed with the loss of you.
Thank you for the wonderful memories.
I don't need you.

You.
Me.
Both equally insane.
Eyes wide at everything.
"Existence is a mere coincidence?" I ask.
"You're nothing but an angel" you whisper to me,
but a quiet thought is a soft blow to my face with your gentle words,
your soft gaze.
Your existence amazes me.
For you are a small sound or a humming breeze.
A flower? The fog in winter?
A day among stars, in outer space.
You are multiple types of beauty
Both dangerous and satisfying.
You are 60% of my insanity.
The other 30% is lacking.

I screamed out from the top of my lungs.
I yelled out in fear for I thought you were the one.
I said I was scared.
I scratched my head.
I fell out of bed.
I will forget!
These tear stains will dry.
I will fall into the landfill, I will die.

I bit on my tongue, and I found some drugs.
We are losing ourselves, but worse than that we lost each other.
I am numb.
I payed attention to you.
I wasted time on you.
I had never done that before...
I hadn't unraveled.
Every word you said I was hung up on.
I drove you crazy...?
You were already crazy.
I am crazy?
I was already crazy.

You will forget and I will forget.
We will not be both the end and the beginning of one another.
They will ask and I will say,
"I'm not in love."
But I will be lying.
I will forever love you,
although
I do not like you anymore.
I will wait until the morning sun arrives.
"Don't look back."
I'll whisper,
"Don't look back."

You will read this poem, and as you read it you'll wonder why is that the first line of this, how bizarre and unintriguing.
You will feel the emotions I felt as I put these words into motion.
You won't care.
It'll touch you for a slight second and take you back with a rush of nostalgia.
You will forget this.
My words full of feeling and most likely eloquence will fade your mind like a dying butterfly,
that just flew by,
right before your eyes.
(You weren't aware of the fact it was dying, of course.)
I should say these are all ghost words, with demons attached to them; for the things that inspired these thoughts are impacted
memories
formed by travelling people who attached themselves to little pieces of my mind.
I thought as I wrote this,
my soul is staining the paper,
for it often feels as though it is bleeding and I would say every writer feels this way.
I would hope so.
A sinking boat, over boarded with water.
A flooded river, full of life, not knowing how to deal with all of it's responsibility.
A loud room, around a small human with a sensory overload.
Each word is a brick on top of a flower.
This is as heavy as this silly poem will get.

He told me my scars weren't beautiful
And I told him that no one could ever really admire a masterpiece
Without taking a few steps back

it's not that special

what i do

because all i do

is put down

words

that sound cool:

nacreous

adulation

effervescence

narcissistic

imbrogli­o

divine

haphazard



there's no rhythm

in what i say

all i'm doing

is breaking

lines

and adding

s p a c e s



sometimes

(yes, sometimes)

i put my words

(in these)

in things we call parentheses

and sometimes

(yes, sometimes)

i repeat myself

and call it

emphasis

(emphasis)



on occasion

I might rhyme

but that takes thought

and that takes time

cat, hat, bat

late, hate, date

fat, gnat, mat

mate, fate, eight



sometimes syllables

can help your flow sound better

much like a haiku



if i talk about angst

death, love, and self-hate

(cliche topics)

it's deep

but my favorite

poem i ever

wrote

was about bacon



and god forbid

i capitalize

because that would mean

it didn't look artsy

THIS IS NOT OKAY

Neither is this.

no punctuation

at all



people say my poetry

is beautiful

that I follow all the rules

but I didn't know there

were rules

to follow

really all I do

is put random words

random phrases

in random patterns

and call it art