your love bled
just like the pen did
everytime it tried
to fill in the empty pages;
and just like that
it ended just the same.
for all that was
left now were stories.
and only the stories remained.

If only my scars were on the surface of my body. Then maybe you’d understand the burden of pain I have held.

You find something in seconds
You lose it as fast
What remains is the presence
of an absence
the void, the nothingness
Lamenting wondering
What's wrong
and what is gone.

you inhale tragedies
and exhale poetry