My father's stony face
Gripped with expressionless, death
He just stares at me
And I tear back

The dirt feels too hard
The world, too cold
I'm saying sorry
But everything just feels wrong

I'm grieving for him
But it's not him who's dead
It's me

Expressionless...
The words that paint us.
The loss of words and the loss of feeling between each other is unreal.
Maybe we're not meant to be,
Maybe we're pushing for something that isn't real.
The lack of connection between our lives and our bodies.
Why can't we connect?
Both of our bodies decompressing to the sound of us.
Are we not real?
Are we something unimaginable?
The harder I push and the harder my body tries to be everything
We loose Everything...
Our souls are distant partners whose fates weren't meant to touch.
You're my imagination and I'm your lustful dream.
Take me to the place where our mind and bodies
Touch, Caress, and Embrace one another.
Sad to say Us is my wildest imagination.

This isn't me i didn't write this.
It doesn't explain at all how i feel.
Poem's left unresolved.
They're all unfinished.
I've finished a poem before.
Felt it was all.
All i could possibly scrawl.
My own scribbles I've read and read.
The best of them.
My dog doesn't deserve to be fed.
But inside unjust and locked tight.
Iron and steel with coarse cage.
My true feelings will never take main stage.
I've told many stories. Some true and false.
I've never told this story.
It's close to my own pulse
Come here touch my chest
Words do no justice
Let me put this one to rest.

Tiredness is overwhelming,
The distress is stringing,
Thoughts expressionless,
Though my writings are endless.

~A.d | 16 Dec 2014