Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
the days have passed the nights are over
but true love they say can't get over.
i remember
i live in delusion
or denial
i don't really know what's worse.
letting me go with invalid promises
promises
that would haunt
my lonely nights
and make me lose myself in the
thought of you.
the dates i met you
and felt your lips against me will
forever
be engraved in my mind.
the days i lost myself to you for the first time
unknowingly that
you
would be the person to wreck me
put me back together
and destroy me.
You cannot tell her she's beautiful,
You cannot tell her you love her,
You cannot tell her she's your world
When she's at her best moments.

You may only tell her those things,
If you're ready for her to have those off days,
If you're ready for her to not always wear makeup,
If you're ready to deal with her mood swings,
If you're ready for her to be clingey some days and distant others,

You cannot tell her any of the pretty little comments,
Unless you can handle her
Alone at two A.M.
As she's struggling with life,
And wondering why

She is not enough to win her own internal battles
-Don't you dare tell her you can handle her all the time if you're only ready to handle her at her best.
 Dec 2017 the unwritten note
Jay
Damaged people love you like a crime scene
Before any crime had been committed
They kept their running shoes right next to their souls every night
One eye opened in case something changed whilst they were asleep

Damaged people love in the most broken way
Damaged people love in the most gentle way
Damaged people do not love
Damaged people love too much

Their backs are always too tense, too tight
Made this way from carrying too many broken things
Because we all know broken things are the heaviest
Just look the weight of a broken heart

Damaged people will love that too
Damaged people love broken things
Because they remind them of themselves

Damaged people take broken things
And love them to the end
Trying to find that one broken thing
That will fit their cracks.

Damaged people love so well

They love like this because they have already seen Hell
And they know that every evil demon
Was once an angel before they fell.
I just wonder
Where the old dreams
Go to die?
Do they ether away
Into the cosmos?
Or they just
Lie down somewhere
Bubbling up as clouds
In the sky.
Or do they
Filter out as
Butterflies of my thoughts .
Are they chained too
To vicious cycle of
Death and rebirth ?
Transcending from one
Subconscious to another.
Amidst the storm of thoughts
Another conjures up
from the vast emptiness
with yet another trail
of beliefs and dis beliefs

— The End —