We are all so weak.
Soft. Tender. Transparent.
So easily scarred.

We take things. Break things.
Hurt people. Hurt those we love.

We swallow the shards of
fragmented words. We all hurt ourselves
when given the chance.

But it all wasn't for the attention.
It is the spiral to our breaking point.

But we are so weak.
Soft. Tender. Transparent.
So easily scarred.

We never seem to get enough.

They came before dawn,
and took us from our cribs.
But we ran and ran from
our place full of woes,
riding until the next tomorrow.
Ghosts running to the horizon.

But we were transparent in the light,
even as we held hands.
I didn’t want to be a ghost on the run.
I don’t want to feel like the things I could hold
are far away and nothing but a mist.
I don’t want to feel like our love is nothing but air.
A ripple in time that fades away.

I want to meet your lips.
I want to hold your hands.
I want to hug you when I see you.
But I’m a ghost in the horizon,
drowning in the sea.

I see you, but you can’t see me.

I believed that love existed
in many different forms.
Like letters with tear stains,
and texts lighting up a dorm.

That love is like water,
that it can be someone in your arms,
that it can slip through your fingers,
without your phone ringing in alarm.

And I believe that love does exist,
if you perceive it to be true.
Even if you don’t see it there,
it is right next to you.

Blood boils over the chalice
in an insurmountable quantity,
pouring straight through the cracks,
spilling on the concrete and it stays,
dried like the Sahara, waiting for it to be scraped
off into non-existence

But it's torment to stare,
to remember the flitting thoughts
that refrain the calm to get back

Adamant to get over our Achilles heel,
striking the bruised flesh over and over
on a wall in detriment of our anger
Persistent to stand still on its feet,
to knock us over and over again

A breathing torso, has a defended chest
Guards are held up around the beast
Confined in a cage that turns brittle to
the eternities that pass by, and it crumbles

We crumble.
It's torment to think about it and not
to let it in.

I don't know what to do.
The lines of memories
both sad, happy
a momentary stun of a supernova
blinding me with a light
so dark
so dim
the moment of peace
turns into a fight

They say my name
an echo of a wind
a fading star
forever pulverized into dust
exploding but not returning evermore.

My name.
My name.
It's in the dark, and it stays there.

her fingers are numb
thinking of touching him
not because of how cold he was to her,
but because the warmth was never for them
in the first place.