Maybe we write to
make ourselves feel better

about the pain,
heartache
and every other
torturous infliction
that gnaws at our insides

Maybe we write to
survive the torture

because,
instead of screaming on the underground
or crying at dinner
we wait for the confines of paper
or thumbs to Notes.

Maybe we write
because we know
nothing else

isn't that ironic?

We know nothing.
Maybe that's why we write.

Sometimes it's difficult
To let something go
Someone

Sometimes it's difficult
To let something in
Someone

Sometimes the footprints
Are scars
Nails scratching at walls and blood smeared so
Deep

That letting go means
The end

Of me
And you.

I miss you
and it's breaking me.