I have never felt more alive than when your hands glided across the curve of my waist and you were smoking your marlboro black 100's and I could taste them on your lips while the sky blushed pink and red when it saw your naked soul. I've always held onto the things that destroy me most but for once I let go and held onto you instead. I held your hand too tightly and I heard bones break because I was so scared to show you the parts of me that were dying and you told me, baby you control which parts die and grow, and that was the first time I felt some form of self love in 3 years.
I want to take your sadness and grab it by its throat until it bleeds all of the poison that has harmed your body, because baby, your body isn't at war with you but it braces itself against the bombs you throw at it. you try to cover up the battlefields like I've never seen them before but you don't have to hide the ways you try to **** your sadness. dollar bills, razor blades, straight lines, bottles, and colourful pills do not define you, you are made up of the deepest depths of the ocean where no one has been, you are made up of the metaphors in every love poem, you are made up of your first kiss with cigarette lips, you are made up of the summer nights spent making love to the moon.
you see baby, you scream at the shadows of your worst fears that lay next to you in bed until your throat feels raw, but they won't always be there. I will take their place and whisper in your ear that you are an entire galaxy trapped inside one body and the star dust in your eyes shines brightest when you laugh.
but most of all baby, I see you as a mystery waiting to be solved, a tormented piece of art that is worth way more than money could ever buy, a empty home waiting for someone to be able to unlock the doors and feel safe inside. many have tried to burn you down after you let them in and you've sealed the door shut and closed the blinds. I've been knocking on the door for days and I don't know if you can hear me, but you are the only home I've ever known.

i have lived on the edge of a fragile faith built on the ether of vague memories

Am I about to lose my mind?
I can't think enough
I can't think too much
I can't think, not even a bit.

I overthink, therefore I do think.
I oversleep, I stay up late at nights though.

I don't feel as if I were living.
It all feels like a dream, as if I were floating,
floating through my life.
Not living my life.

Barely,
Existing.
Maybe, maybe, I haven't lost my mind *YET