You'll linger.
Like a bad smell.

Like a ghost.
Haunting my mind.

You'll hide.
In every corner.

Never seize to exist.

Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat.

You see once you touch a person.
They'll never ever leave you alone.

Hurt people will hurt people.
That's just the  way life goes.

You'll linger like a bad smell.
You'll linger like a ghost.

Once you mark somebody.
You mark them forever,

I guess you didn't know.
I guess you never cared.

Just how much touch.
Would sting my skin.
Would scorch my mind.

Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat...

I wish there was a  rewind.
Instead I'll settle for a pause.

Knowing you can't get to me.
At least not now not anymore.

Every thought hurts me so much
Like nettle on my skin
And I know it's my fault
Your words are as clear as ink

The question, “Do I really miss you?”
feels like a weighty confession, but it often shows
I long for the days when I could call you my girl –
a title I never thought much of it before

The question, “Do I truly miss you?”
feels like a daunting truth, but it often shows
Missing someone is always a struggle –
but the emptiness of not having that someone
to miss, hurts a little more.

“Do I really miss you?” Absolutely, and I despise
that sensation; I wish to stop missing you altogether –

I don’t want to miss you anymore.

Falling in love – like a leaf caught in a whimsical breeze,
Falling short on my words, falling away from myself,
Falling apart into pieces, to find a place in your heart…

I always try to match the taste of your tongue, each time
We ignite a spark beneath the glow of hopeful affection –
We’re adrift, far from the depths of true love; yet we declare
  It with every beat of our hungry hearts.

The heart can be cruel – yet yours is a tale I’ve been unravelling,
Woven with verses and hidden sonnets. You might have glimpsed
My own, despite its rough edges, or the rhythm it desperately
Tries to convey.

How wonderful it was to share the illusion of love.

It all bled and bled and bled.

The hurt. The abandonment. The truth. The metaphors. 

It all bled.

It all bled so vicious and dark,
That I started wondering if my bitterness
started staining the crimson of my blood.
And painted it a stark black,
As I picked apart all that I lack.

And I bled and bled and bled like
The never-ending torture 
Of birth and death.

i dont know how,
i am supposed to feel,
i am in love with you,
and i am sure of that,
you broke my heart,
tore it apart,
when all i wanted,
was ur love,
you made me look bad,
to all whom we know,
word got spread,
they all hate me now,
for what reason i ask,
u said,
its not ur fault,
we were young,
although your right,
i am the only one that got hurt in the end,
all this despise,
and all these mistakes,
have filled me up,
with anger,
with agony,
i wanted you to die,
but i couldnt hurt you,
the way you did me,
how the ****,
am i supposed to feel,
i am in love with you,
im hurt by you,
war in my head,
all the time,
confused on how,
i can feel that eway,
but still u said,
its not ur fault,
we were young,
although your right,
i am the only one the got hurt in the end,
all this despise,
and all these mistakes,
have filled me up,
with anger,
with agony,
i wanted you to die,
but i couldnt hurt you,
the way you did me.

The air doesn't feel as heavy,
but it still hurts to breathe.
I think I'm going under,
but as much as I miss you,
I'm not ready to leave.
I can't tell you how I'm feeling
because I'm feeling everything and nothing
all the time. And as the days turn into years,
it seems like the only things that stay
are my fears. The fear that someday, I'll be OK without you. The fear that someday,
all that I'll have left of you
are love and memories.

To love is to risk
This I know well
But did I truly know
Just what struggles I’d be unable to quell?

A story of old
A warning on the precipice of uncertainty
A danger of which to warn the young
A music note too feared to be strung

How was I to know that the thorns would scratch at my throat
That the carnations dipped in crimson would scatter my floor?

My fingertips are stained
My insides are wounded
My heart has been yanked and shattered
My lungs have become torn and tattered

Blood ridden flowers litter my floor
My sheets have been stained and mangled and more

I struggle to decide
If I bear regret or compliance
My emotions flow with the tide
And my tears paint my face as I cry

If only you knew what I have endured
And yet soon I will rest though I’ve yet to be cured

An enigma of sorts my life has turned out to be
But soon, not only I, but my secrets will be free

The blade glides
Emerging red high tides
From mad to sane
****** anguish overpowers mental pain