I had relationships before you, told other people “I love you”, and I don’t think I was lying to them, at least until I heard you whisper those words into my ear.
I’m confusing to the public, regardless of the time, place, or lens through which I am viewed. Smartphone cameras consider my face as a smudge, so at least I can avoid being tagged in pictures posted to social media. But if you don’t exist on Facebook, are you even real? Without my opinions being expressed … Continue reading “For all of the negative emotions I’ve built up in my veins, I’m still an empty, transparent mistake…”
How did things end up like this? In the Winter, you were here. But then came Summer And suddenly I can only see you When I close my eyes. Will tomorrow be the same? Will the next day be another day Where I don’t know you, Where I can’t find you at all? I can't … Continue reading “Time erases nothing, but diminishes everything.”
Falling down takes time, and has layers, and can even appear beautiful. It’s sort of like a sunset on the beach in late September. It’s not truly autumn, so every evening is ushered in on the tail-end of a dying summer breeze. The light from the Sun plays games with that not so warm air, … Continue reading “I can feel the weight of these memories, so large that I can’t carry anything new into my tomorrows. At some point I have to make a choice, but I’m afraid that, even after all these years, I’m still going to choose anybody but me…”
"You are a sunburn; you came with happy times spent in sunny days, and you left me with the coming of autumn and the bright orange leaves."
I can’t resist the urge to break. It’s almost like a need, a physical itch that demands I scratch it with a freshly sharpened pocket knife. I hate this feeling. I am filled up with things and stuff instead of love and warmth, and it hurts. I want to cry. Every day I want to … Continue reading “I’m failing. Everything that I am; body, mind, spirit, and all the other shit in between, I am a failure.”
Her scent is reminiscent Of warm autumn draft, And as her late October Finds purchase under dead bark, Every leaf left to me Can do nothing else But shrivel up into kindling And obediently burn.