You have to respect a woman's decision to hate you.
Even if that woman is the one of your dreams.
You'll probably spend the rest of your life
Loving the ghost that briefly drifted by.
It might be a lot shorter than average,
But by god, what a way to go -
Death by love.
I can only hope she's happy...
Eventually. I know it's not a short-term fix.
I can only hope that she is happy, eventually.
As long as my renewed depression
Has a purpose then I can have some comfort.
An uncomfortable exchange, but, all being said,
If she'd come to me and upfront asked me:
"Can I give you my depression in exchange
For some temporary contentment?"
Then I would have agreed.
Who could deny that beautiful soul anything she wanted?
I can only hope that she is happy.
I think I need help
But I'm oh so very scared.

You have deprived me of sentence constructions.
I want the world to stop
Belle and Sebastian ringing in my ears
Again, again, again
Not singing, not music, just ringing
Like a bomb exploded too close.
Pink hair, cute glasses, cuter smile
Desperation and drowning
Losing you bit by bit,
First it was the desire to stop talking
Then it was blocking Facebook messages
Then it was whatsapp
Then it was now seemingly deleting Facebook.
I can't decide if you hate me or
If you are calling out for help and I
Can do nothing.
I didn't think I had loved you or known you long enough
For you to hate me.
I'm helplessly following you down a dark
Dark dark dark dark dark dark
Path.
Words are not making sense and gibberish
I'm just struggling to write through the tears
AND I NEED YOU... my oxygen
It's all I have left in my soul.
What's left if you love a ghost
But to **** yourself?

It is of this poet's opinion,
That if a poet was to write
Eleven pages worth of poetry
For one heart-breaking woman,
She must be important.

Today I walked to the pier
And I stared into the water
And I wrote and I wrote
I wrote nothings and everythings
And I let some tears out
And I reflected and I laughed a bit
And I had a good old think back
Over everything
Over and over again
And I was afraid that if I stopped writing
I would dive in and swim
Until I couldn't swim anymore
And maybe the water was a much more
Fitting death than a leap
From a tall library window
Or one feet first in front of a train
But I'm about to finish writing
And despite all my failures
And disappointments
There's something faint
Telling me to keep going
And I don't know what's worse:
That I don't know what it is,
Or that I so desperately want it to *******.

Retaking the same steps,
Searching for meaning,
Searching for something -
Something more in the memories,
Something more in the feelings
That you made me feel.
Hearing the waves by the restaurant,
On the pier.
Feeling the power of the breeze,
And the cold.
This time I don't have your arm,
Your body to keep warm,
And I think that makes it
The coldest it could be.

Missing:

Thomas Newlove
Male, 25 years old, 6'5", slim,

Last seen in September with an unknown female.
If found, please return to her:
Victim doesn't learn from his mistakes.

Today I watched a man go into the sea to swim with his dog.
The urge to drown myself was perhaps the strongest it's ever been.
It scares me