there are millions of people that I have seen for the last time... but how many of them actually saw me?

Roses grow, and your stone's cold
You're way up there, you're all alone
And normally I don't trust psychics who claim they can talk to the dead
But this time I guess I"ll go

The gypsy put her cold hands both on mine
Told me that there's help from the divine
That I could reach way deep inside
And find what you had left behind

I close my eyes but all I can see
Is the hole where you used to be
And all the crystal ***** in the world
Could never make me complete

Forget-me-nots evermore
A prayer sent for you and I
And normally I don't trust self-help books cuz they say all the same things
But I guess this time I'll try

It said 'Let your emotions be expressed and released'
But I feel they could never be free
'Talk about it whenever you can' it reads
But the only person who'll listen is me

I imagine you watching me
But I know I'm not just imagining

You were here 
just for a while.

I can still smell your scent
from the last hug you gave me.

You made December feel 
like an eternity, 
but maybe for you
it has been just a blink. 

I could not watch you walk away
because it would have meant 
that your back was the last thing 
I could see. 

I'd rather remember your smile 
because it was the first thing 
I fell in love with.





      ©Words of a withering soul

I remember when I felt the Great Shift before I even knew what it was.
Driving home in my glitter dress and your red bow-tie.
I played songs that reminded me of you, reaching out.
But when I turned to sing the lyrics to you,
you were a million miles away,
in another universe,
orbiting a different sun.
I tried to patch it up, putting my arm through yours like
a needle and thread through cloth.
We ripped apart in every pothole we hit on the road.
Still to this day, I wonder,
where did you go?

when my boyfriend
rests his head on my chest,
he listens to my heartbeat.

I wonder if he knows
what is in the blood
that thumps beneath
my rib cage.




I wonder if he can hear
fists smacking chins

and drunken yelling

and noses bleeding

and children crying

and pill bottles opening

and ambulances blaring

and parents fighting

and skin slicing

and screams muffling.




I wonder if he can hear
the ***** music

and funeral speeches

and lives ending

and hearts breaking.




I wonder
when he listens
to my heartbeat,
can he hear

where I come from
and what I am made of?

can he hear
who I am?




and I wonder if
he could hear
all of those things,

would he still be here
with his head on my chest?

It had been 11 months since I dared burst my skull
The ghastly vision that ebbs and flows
from mirrors to walls and solemn windows
Their precarious steps clouding my neck—
bottle after bottle and their vision recedes
How swift the mind guides away from the ruptures
How swift the world seek change at unwilling ends.
Stillness at the silence of once bustling dwellings.
Cyclical patterns I once fought to leave
Elated thoughts and galactic dreams
No longer suppressed within the concrete eves

I guess I wish
It was something I didn’t miss
But I do
But I don’t
But I do

Certain thoughts
Make my memory sing

When we were a thing

and i think
i'm just so tired
of being sad
but it's something
there's no sense in
hurrying

the process of
yearning, of unlearning

there is so much
emotional labor
that goes into
forgetting

all of the good
the bright, the beautiful
before the terrible
the painful, the ugly

the feeling
you used to get
when you looked
into their eyes

and it hasn't been there
in months, maybe years

but you're chasing the high
because you're afraid
the memory
is all you have left of it

remembering
what it felt like
when you weren't
pretending
everything was
alright