Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.

You are the home
from which the love I crave
We’re running out of time
And I’m still flying
A little too close to the sun
That little balloon beneath my chest
constantly filling up with air
As I float
Be careful
or It will soon explode
And it may never even land home

I forgot that you
were just a poem
but now
my
memory
is back

*turns page

Pain used to inspire me to write.
Words would flow easily through my fingers,
substituting my tears.
I used to draw my pain. I painted my canvas with feelings,
and emotions, that words could not express.
If things started to feel hopeless, music was my saviour.
I would write lyrics, amplifying the words with sad tunes,
spilling my deepest, darkest thoughts.
But now, the pain is so strong, it is all I can think of.
My thighs are covered in scars,
from when the pain got so bad, that I needed to bleed it out.
Now, I realize, that I have drained myself.
There´s no tears, no words, no paint, no blood
left,
to spill.

She loved to swim in
Shallow seas but I dived in
The deep dry ocean

With my inward eye
I saw the light
When darkness was
My only companion.
From behind my lashes
I stepped a little
With dreams to
Achieve.
Clothes humid
Like my mortal
Heart held me
When I was broken.
But people forget
The shattered mortals
Can be united not
The broken ones
With weights of all
Gone faiths, I walked.
Though I didn't reach
The summit yet
I saw the peak

To read,
Is to feed on,
Broth of feelings,
Served with heart,
Of a writer.
warm or cold,
How broken matters.

so often it's
the beautiful the cherished
which falls
from dusty table
edges

When we encounter people and socialize with them. It always begins well because you're meeting them for the first time and getting to know them. Strangely enough you become friends or more then that. Everything goes perfectly well in the beginning until a day comes where you truly see them for who they are. It either makes you disappointed or happy.

The disappointment always hits me hard because I've gotten use to how well things were in the beginning that when the disappointment hits. It's hard to let go.

It's hard to let go because I make myself believe that it'll be back to the first encounter I've had with them.

You can try as hard as you possibly can and you can have all the hope in the world BUT it's a 50/50 chance of it ever going back to the first encounter.