They try to control the power we have
but we rule over men when we undress
We carry an ancient beauty that is mysterious and frightening
Perfection in the curves of our flesh

Waiting on your ring
Your silence is deafening
Tick. Tock. Maddening.

It’s not that I’m afraid to go to sleep, it’s that I'm afraid of waking up
I don’t like the feeling of realizing I was just dreaming that stuff
Because I miss her
And she haunts my dreams
And in them I apologize, and she accepts me
And everything becomes as I know it was meant to be
And finally, I am granted some peace
But then I wake up
And I realize that never happened
I realize I can’t talk to her anymore
I lost my chance when that man killed a *****
I lost my chance when I cut her off and ignored
I lost it when she finally unfollowed me after 3 years of waiting on me
I lost it when she stopped posting photos, and I couldn’t check on her, make sure she still breathes
I will never forgive myself for pretending that I didn’t care
I will live on with the vile knowledge that I betrayed her

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved?  were we not weaned till then,
But ****** on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the seven sleepers’ den?
’Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, ’twas but a dream of thee.

And now good morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea discovers to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown:
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemishperes,
Without sharp North, without declining West?
Whatever dies was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.

I don’t remember when my state of mind stopped depending on me.
I am empty and am filled by the state of the world outside of me.
If the weather is warm and bright I feel warm and full of light.
If it is cold I feel cold inside.
If it is dark I feel like I am already dead.
If it is 5 am and no one is conscious I am lonely.
My feelings are no longer trustworthy. I don’t own them.
I don’t control them.
I am no longer myself.

You must still exist
In another dimension
I'll see you again

I’ve never been in control of my feelings.
They drop on me like a pile of bricks.
And I am too weak to carry them. They overtake me.
The only thing in the world that is powerful enough to give me respite:
Is a good book.
I become lost in the story, and I can forget my pain.
I am enabled to leave this world and enter a happier one.
But now I read the same few comforting novels over and over.
Because I am terrified of reading ones that I can’t immerse myself in.
Terrified that my one means of escape will prove as pointless and empty as real life.