"You suffocate me. while I stare at your belongings on the wall, I lay in this bed made of heartache. The silence is deafening while I think of you over,  and over again.

They claim I’ve been suffering from some type of sickness, they’re right, although it’s a whole other kind of sickness. A sickness created in the middle of the night, faster than the blink of an eye. A decaying body, infested with the words that you used to sing to me, I watch as the maggots crawl over me, filling the gaps within my useless heart.

The melancholy in this heavy fog of nostalgia that I feel is relentless, I try and scurry away like a mouse, but unfortunately I wasn’t fast enough, the trap you set for me has definitely broken my neck by now. I can’t say my death is peaceful, because I’m absolutely and completely suffering from you. They all want to know why I want to leave, why be so quick and careless, I can’t help but immediately think of you, these walls are drenched in memories of you, I can’t help but wish to paint over them like I have tried so many times before, but it is of no use, the fresh paint will dry as fast as these rolling tears upon my cheek, and soon chip away.
Slowly chipping away my sanity the way you chipped away my walls to let you in. I let you in, just for you to paint over my luminescent walls with black tar.

I’m forever stained now by your hands, breath, looks, even voice. It seems there is no escaping you, after all this time I still see you laying in my bed, driving around this ghost town, eating the same food I would. It hurts more and more. I don’t have a home anymore, for this place that should be a home is desolate, with only memories.

I’m not alive anymore, I’ve been dead for a long time, living is being in the present and moving on, I live in memories, memories of us. Forgetting the world when I was with you was as easy as breathing, and now all I can focus on now is the world, thinking all the time of how you and I were supposed to be in it together, instead we are separated by irrelevant words. I know you’re hurting too, but in a different way, you don’t sit and watch the clouds go by feeling the pain in the back of your throat when you’re holding back tears of pain. That is all I am now, in pain, suffering."

inescapable
loveless years pile on top of
each other like cars,
windowless  
in a derelict lot.

without giving in
to easy despair, he moves
through them as empty
as the wind
blowing through formless sky.

Death is like you,
silent, cold, and
doesn’t love me back

If you are death
then I long to be dead

Despair drips
from my lips,
don't kiss me

My sorrowful soul
awaits death’s kiss,
don’t miss me

I'm tired of writing about love,
So this poem is different,
Instead I'll write something new.

I won't write about it.

About how I miss you,
The feeling bubbling up inside me,
And spilling out in the form of nostalgia.

About how I felt when you said those three words,
My emotions clawed at each other,
Trying to jump in and play,
Yet trying to hold themselves back.

About your promise to see me again,
And how suddenly my mind was in the clouds,
Wishing we were there together.

No, I won't write about it,

I'll write about something new,
After wanting to write about you.

She was named after love,
and letters were exchanged
between lovers in her name

Poets found their muse
when she visited their hearts
and I was one of them

But my love never
reached her heart
like hers did mine

And so she left,
when my stubborn heart was
aching to be laced with hers

She left,
and my eyes were searching,
yearning for her

Dear Heyam,
I swear on love letters
and you
For it is the last poem
I write about you

is it a tender embrace
or more like a blazing storm?
The feeling everyone craves,
including myself,
called "love".

in many stories and myths it seems
to be the one and only impression
one would describe as a pleasent dream,
so fierce and full of undisclosed passion.

but I am certain, quiet eager even
that I won't gather any experience
because "love" these days means treason,
lust, greed and above all

self-indulgent obedience.

I would rather idealize it forever,
to remain an ignorant and loveless bystander.

© fey (24/02/20)