love the ones who gave you life,
because there is nothing
more heartbreaking
                
than looking at the one
who carried you beneath her heart
for the first nine months of your existence
                  
and fearing growing too close
            
I have come too far
grown too strong
                  
to crumble at the mercy
of your familiar and cruel hands.

He was the sun, and I was the moon.
Without him, I couldn't illume the night.
I took all the darkness, he had morning and noon,
Without each other, the world wasn't right.
He was the fire, and I was the ice.
He'd bring the chaos without thinking twice.
Whatever flesh he burns, I come to aid.
I touch him without ever being afraid.
He was the ground, and I was the sky.
Aware of each other, but turn a blind eye.
He gave me vapor, I gave him the weather;
It was our only way of being together.
He was the mass, and I was the space.
And without hesitation, in my life, he took place.
I let him consume me, I didn't mind, you see,
I was just happy that somebody needed me.
He was he, and I was me.
What a fool I've been to trust and believe
That we need each other, when the sad truth is,
All there has been for us, was to coexist.

I sit in my basement.
And I watch others live their lives.
I'm not enough.
And my friends are worried.
And my family is worried.
It's happened, I'm sick again.

And then I go somewhere safe.
I feel better one day.
And better the next.
There's bad days too.
But I see tomorrow.

i am not one for making bets
but i bet your heart skipped too
when my soul recognized you

My hands
have always been empty
even with
your hands to hold.
Let’s meet somewhere
where you need not be seen,
where I need not be invisible.

There is a heartfelt flower,
genuine and beating.
It yearns and reaches
and curls up inside,
fluttering at every touch,
of those real and affectionate.

There is a heartfelt flower,
genuine and bleeding.
It bleeds and spills
and twists up inside,
weeping drops of red,
all crumpled and stained.

There is a heartfelt flower,
genuine and wilting.
It drains and ebbs
and shrivels up inside,
turning into empty bones,
cast aside and torn apart.

There is a heartfelt flower,
genuine and withered.
If only they could see it
during its full bloom.