I am 26 letters more empty,
Than I was yesterday.
This world is the constant dripping of a tap,
Drilling into my skull one millimetre at a time.
This world is safely wrapped in bubble wrap,
Beautifully shattered from the inside.
We have thousands of bubbles to pop,
One god ****** pope at a time.
Interfering personal spaces,
Dancing wildly on the edges of dust.
We sit and rust on O2 particles
Kissing dreams of lust as our bones cuss.

I have learned,
people leave you
cold and broken
like my youth
and the only thing
that will ever stay
in my life
is that pen
and that pad of paper.

because my sanity
means more to me
than pleasing others
and my sanity
can only stay
if that pen and pad
are next to me

so take away my
so-called friends
lost inside
never empty pill bottles
and always empty
bottles of sorrow
and remind me why
this is what i cling to.

this is my far few in between
this is my light
at the end
of a never lit tunnel.
This is where misery
and it's company
join hands and dance
in the moonlit
darkness of the past.

The only thing
I've ever held close to me,
was anger and resentment
for those who i'm supposed to love
I find fatal flaw
where there isn't any
I look for wrong
in those who try to do me right
which is why I write.
because the only form
of therapy available to me
costs sixty bucks an hour
and that hour
holds more secrets
than my mind
will allow me to speak.
So I bleed ink
and hope that some sense
of relief
flows through my fingertips
like the weight upon my shoulders

and the only thing
worth fighting for
in my eyes
are the things
that are fighting with me.
Which is why people
come and go.
But blank pages
are always meant to be filled.

I think it speaks volumes that in my half-awake, half-asleep, drowsy state sometime before the sun came up, I instinctively yet firmly planted my lips on whatever part of you was closest to me. It was your shoulder blade, or maybe the back of your neck. I know I woke up and it was the first thing I thought of, and I gripped you close and kissed you hard. For me, it says a lot that you rolled over and held me back in response. We fell back asleep after that, your arm draped over my waist and your breath on my neck.

You could buy me flowers or take me on dates or tell me I'm beautiful and do all of those cliché yet considerate things. I won't think any less of them, and I promise I'll do the same for you. But you can't buy me an instinctual embrace. It was something I just did, and it was something you just did in response. I over analyze a lot, but it meant something for me.

It felt different than flowers and dates and hearing I'm beautiful. It felt safe, it felt like reciprocation. It felt like a simple embrace that simply meant I was in your arms, but I know it's a bit more than that. You may have simply rolled over and wrapped me up in your arms but it wasn't forced or planned or expected like dates and flowers may be. It was natural. Sometimes that's what feeling for someone is, going for it and hoping someone feels for you too. It's knowing that kissing someone is a shot in the dark and you may or may not get kissed back, but you go for it anyway. Sometimes, and hopefully, feeling for someone is natural and easy though telling them may not be.

So rolling over and kissing you was one thing. It was another that you responded. You don't know it, but a hand across my waist and your breath on my neck meant more than the other gestures because this one came to you as easily as blinking or breathing. It was simple like you and insightful like me. It meant that in your half-asleep, half-awake state there was enough instinct to hold me and the simple notion that you did so meant that we share some common ground, as uncommon as that may be; sometimes we wake up wanting to be close to each other, and that's enough for me.

we place so much importance
on words, don’t we?
like these black lines
define us or something
like these speech bubbles can represent
the real thing inside
so why do we find words for things
that do not exist?
and why are there some things
that we cannot describe?
four letters, four words
an entire book isn’t enough
to explain how i feel right now
when i hardly know myself
and that’s just the thing
we place so much importance on words
as if they can say what we can’t
as if i could just reach inside myself
and pull out this feeling, confused and unheard
and words will fill in the blanks for me
but it’s not like that
we place so much importance
on something we created ourselves
and we write words down, like love
and hate and everything in between
and it seems to me like putting pen to paper
just solidifies the definition
tattoos it into reality’s skin, and it sinks in
and that word takes hold
whether or not it was true
of course, here i am
hypocritical as usual
tearing down the one thing
that lets me speak my mind
but i guess i just wish there was some other way
to figure out how i really feel

the flowers remind me of the blush on your cheeks when the wind blows.
the music i listen to gives me a beat that reminds me of your heartbeat,
shaky but still there and that's all that really matters.
the freckles on you face are identical to the ones in your eyes, so small but tell such a big story
the rush of water reminds me of how you talk when you're passionate about the subject. you slur and ramble, but there's a purpose. there's always a purpose.
i think of all the things that remind me of you make me think about how such a beautiful person can be so broken on the inside and so close to death every night.
i wish i could tell you what i see when i think of you.
i see waterfalls
flowers
music
freckles
the flicker of a flame
the sound of scratching a paper with a pencil.
if i were to tell you,
you would laugh and brush it off.
you might ask how i think of such silly things.
but i know what it means and i know that you're beautiful.
i know you and that's all i need