We come and we go.
We need to find ourselves again.
Must we all look towards others
to do so?
Why can you not look to me?
I whisper.
Accusations, Assumptions.
Violins and flutes play silently,
their strings like that of my heart.

I am afraid to write when I feel like this.

Who would want to read my writing
when the only things I can write
are just depressing?
Few more days and maybe I'll be
out of this low.
I hope.

do not be angry at me
for grabbing onto anything i can
to save this,
just because you had nothing
to grab onto.

in a trance

eyes staring aimlessly into the night,
focus on the breathing,
numb.

i dont believe a thing you say,
but im hanging on every word.

insecurities throbbing through my pulses
like that of the beat of the drums
i hear in the background.

please take me home.

Pure emotion
Raw feelings
An anger I have never felt.

I am no longer inclined to keep myself hidden.

I will be heard.

She begins to fashion an idea in her mind.
How romantic is something you feel in your bones,
your body, your mind, your soul.
How romantic is something that ignites a fire,
a burning passion.
How romantic is something that allows you to
forget the world
and float away?

Its not so romantic at all.

A pale, ghostly face
staring out into the mist
from a top story window

is so cliche,
until you have seen it
like a movie scene
thrown into your own life.

You wonder who she is,
What she is thinking,
and perhaps,
Had you really seen her at all?

If you caught me,
would you
set me free?

Tell me something
I have not heard before,
you irrelevant person.

Maybe I will
actually
believe you.

Otherwise,
close your mouth,
and choke on your
criticizing words.

These words come alive
when I can not.
They breathe air
when I am suffocating.
They heal me
when I am bleeding.
They give me hope
when I no longer
believe.

He took a photograph

for her

Of a wall under

a beautiful bridge.

And on that wall

was written

"We're all being used;

We just don't know it."

I see you
trapped in your
self destructive
actions,
unaware.

I am running,
but I can not
reach you.

I see a tear
roll down your
cheek,
hurt,
from the inside out.

I am screaming
but you can not
hear my words.

I see you
shrinking,
pulling your knees
in close
to your chest.

I am still running,
trying to reach you,
desperate to hold you,
desperate to mend
your deep wounds.

How could someone
step on and crush
such a
rare and beautiful
flower?

You are not alone,
you are not gone,
you are not over.

What I would do
to give you back
that night.

I am running,
screaming,
hurting for you.

I finally reach you,
and pick up your pieces.

I will put you back together,
because that is what we
have always done:

Put each other back together
after the world has damaged us.

I could offer you messy ink on loose leaf. I could give you some beautiful words. Would you feel my tone? There's nothing I wouldn't do, to write how I truly feel for you.

I can make all your dreams come true,
 and then accidentally rip it right out from under you.
   I am sorry you love a girl
      with a bruised heart,
         especially since most of the
              black and blues
                 I have done all on my own.
                    No one to blame,
                        No where to hide.
                           Run before
                  I bruise your heart too.
                 But believe me when i say,
                 I did love you.

He tookher to a place up in the mountains.
She didnt think of you as he took the curves at 90 miles per hour.
He parked the car and opened her door.
She didn't think of you as they walked up the road in darkness.
He led her to the edge of the dropp off and they sat on the stonewall ledge.
She didn't think of you as he pointed out the city skyline.
She didn't think of you as she stared at the dist horizon, lit up by the lights speckled across the land.
She didn't think of you as the cool breeze draped a shawl over her shoulds.
But as she gazed up at that big ol' moon,
She thought of you.
Yes, she thought of you.
She looked at the fading stars, the orange harvest moon, and the empty darkn ight.
Would it have looked as empty if you were here?
She wondered.
She liked the thought that miles away, you were looking at the same sky.
Maybe even thinking of her.
He grabbed her hand and led her back to his car.
She was still thinking of you.
The thoughts of you fled her mind as he raced down the mountain,
taking the curves at 90 miles per hour.
The thoughts of you faded in her mind,
finding company with the memories of mid summer nights.

I think I might start working on my first novel soon.

It is getting hard to breathe,
always trying to impress,
No one said it would be easy,
but God, I am such a mess.

It is getting hard to breathe.
Smeared makeup below my eyes,
Believe me when I tell you this:
I am made up of truths and lies.

A fumbling mess
always does best
when she sits on the couch and reads.

Sometimes,
it is tiring to
love you so
much.

Sometimes,
you drain so
much from
me.

Other times,
you breathe
life into me.