Sometimes I forget who I am
What I look like
I forget what I've done
I forget what the universe thinks of me
Untouchable ;
Is who I am

Arms and legs
Joints and knuckles
Down to cells of my rusty ***** inducing aperture
I am nothing short of a miracle
Still breathing
Still living

No purpose
Not a single use
Just
Alive

Crystal gusts whistle—
fox paws print icy gravel
by evergreen pines

''I'm sitting here, waiting,
For answers to fill this paper with...
Answers that  are still a void in my head.

Did that ever happen to you?
I mean, who am I asking?
A stranger who just passed through?
A stranger who can't stay with you?
A stranger who is you.

Your thoughts are not your own anymore.
Endless questions haunt you like a shadow, and I don't want more.
More heartbreak,
More nightmares,
And questions I shall never know the answers to.

Am I good? Am I bad?
Am I happy? Am I sad?

I'm sitting here, wondering
About all the questions I could've lost my mind over.
All that...
All that because of the stranger who doesn't feel like home anymore.''

Is to observe the world
in all its intricate detail
To hear all the
unspoken words
To be a watcher at every moment
but never to be watched

From all the dark corners
where the whispers reach
is a fly, soundless, immobile
seeing all
yet seen by none

You wanted me quiet-
A flicker in the dark,
Something trilling
You wanted a spark

I was your secret,
Easier to keep alone
Because secrets rots,
When kept for too long

You wanted my all, my devotion
You paced around it, like a dare
Like a truth, not to be shared

You don't think I feel,
But it's all I felt
Yet I stayed silent,
I am my own personal hell

I self sabotage
Knowing you wouldn't care
I didn't not want you,
You just wanted-
What can never be fully touched

Never to be fixed,
And never undone.

I wish I could cry it out
but instead I cry inside
There tears are flowing
and they drown my mind.

L.C.

At my lowest,
I sit in silence
and bleed nothing but truth.

I peel pain open
like fruit with no skin
bitter, soft,
so achingly sweet.

I trace every crack in my chest
like ancient runes,
looking for the shape of love
in the wreckage.

And when I find it
trembling, ugly, beautiful
I see myself.

To feel this much
is a kind of holiness.
To ache for something
is to prove it mattered.
To shatter for love
is to live.

Even if life is chaos,
I still choose.
I still want.

And maybe that’s enough
to want so deeply
that the wanting alone
makes me real.