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fray narte Jul 2019
Let's cut the crap and all that sweet **** — we weren't those kind of people. We weren't made for romance and sappy poetries, weren't made for love songs, and cringey sweet nothings and gazing at the sunrise after camping out for the night on a hill. We were made to hold hands and a few almost-kisses during drinking sessions and forget about it the next day, to smoke and lie down a little bit too close to each other on rooftops and talk about depression and anxiety attacks, and deny everything in the morning. We were made for my unsaid "I miss you too's", that want to escape my lips the moment you say your drunken "I miss you's". We were made to see each other break down in between a pack of cigarettes and two bottles of local ***. We were more like two ****** up souls recognizing each other; more like two faultlines causing an earthquake and taking everything down with them, more like the first raindrops to fall apart before a thunderstorm, like two planets out of orbit crashing on each other in a brief but destructive way.

You see, maybe we're just drawn to people similar to us, and maybe, we're just drawn to each other because we're equally messed up. Maybe it was just the strong urge to save the other that borderlined to romance. But I guess being messed up wears people out, and sometimes I find myself wondering who got exhausted first. Where did the talks about "wanting to die together" go? When did the conversations about our saddest secrets cease? What stopped "Man, loving you is a disaster I won't mind being struck by," from coming? Was I too depressive and sad for you? Were my breakdowns suffocating? Did my fuckedupness stop feeling like home and started looking just plain ****** up? When did you start fading away? Why would you do that? Stupid questions.

You should know, it beats the **** out of me to say it, but I was perhaps a little bit desperate for you to stay. Perhaps I got too comfortable with your demons, I almost adopted them as mine. Perhaps the fact that you were willing to give me your ******-up all was comforting. Perhaps I was selfish, and I kinda wanted my darkness to be the only darkness you'll wanna light. Perhaps I miss you and it feels like I'm a chainsmoker on withdrawal from her cigarettes, and what ***** more is that I don't even know if I still cross your mind as that same sad girl you were happy being sad with, as that same sad girl who had always been your destination, and the very same one you apparently stopped coming to. And perhaps, thinking about all of these is *******. We weren't some modern-day knight and damsel. You weren't the guy with the beautiful blue eyes, and I'm not the girl with the blue washed denim they sing about. We were just misfits who made a mess out of the messed ups we already are, as if that isn't already enough. We were just planes thrown in the air, hoping to land, but ending up crashed and burnt. And that's how it always worked for people like us.

I was never worn out by your sadness as much as I was worn out by mine. And clearly, you were my favorite messed up, but, you're just not worth it anymore. And this — this is a just an unpoetic musing about the wrecks that we are, an impulsive attempt of detoxifying you out of my system. This — this is me, disowning your sadness; this is me disowning your demons. So let's just cut the drama and all that sweet **** — we weren't those kind of people. We were the almost-but-not-quite's, the could've-beens, and the never were's. We weren't the kind that bags the happily ever after. We weren't the kind that makes it.

All we are is everything short of lovers. All we're made for is everything short of I love you's. And this is everything short of love.
Asch Veal Jan 2014
And I think growing up had more
to do with the struggle of validating
your pipe dreams and protecting your
worlds virginity, than it ever had
to do with transcending your naive mind.
It became difficult to hope for
something figmental, let alone comfortable,
so you accept reality as only concrete.
Perhaps that is why you began to
digress through third grade
crushes, because it was the closest
thing to impossibility but borderlined
on the edge enough to authenticity
and tangible reality that it was okay.
And that was when you definitely sensed it,

*that hundred to one feeling.
Elioinai Dec 2015
My hopes flew quickly to bright flowers
strong and sweet
they gazed for hours
But now that strength has waned

My joy in flurried work
though first relieved in stress less space
soon borderlined on Shirk

This depressed state
is common now
when we mix our ink with paper
we sit in pools of swirling grey
and lose our whirlwind shaper

our hearts have fallen
through the rainbow air
and droop on dreary sills
our eyes are sick and only stare
at mirrors showing ills

Our psyches oh so wonderful
do quite forget their power
and don't remember
the angeled bower
on which they did alight

When winged insects
leave the sky
when butterflies do land
they do not ask their maker why
but trust this rest upon his hand

They eat and drink
they sleep and wait
They wait for Gentle eye to wink
And when they fly
don't wonder why
or call their leave too late
I hate having depression. It's so weird. I only have it for short moments in a day or two a week. And other times my mind attacks me. But I know I will be alright.
2 Timothy 1:07
"But God has not given us a Spirit of fear. But he has given unto us a Spirit of Power, of Love, and a Sound Mind"

— The End —