What am I without poetry, Without words, blossoming on the page? I would be but a shell of myself And you would find me
I’ll tell you to hold on tight, and we can be alone together in this nothingness. I’ll tell you to tell me a story, and we can laugh and cry together
And we were always running never to but always from and always running... And we were always hurting never for but always from
star-struck because stars are fictional, heavenly things. but
I’m sorry I never told you About why I was so nervous around… I’m sorry I never confessed Because you moved on, And I didn’t.
damp. damp and frothy and sticky upon
If I died And no one knew, I don’t know. And I am scared And everything hurts
Empty eggshells Line the floor And you can’t walk across Or get to the door. You can’t reach your shoes,
Words are just words They say But if they’re “just words,” Why do they hurt so much more When they tell the truth?
I do not know All of the answers. I forget sometimes And I’m not always right. Don’t listen to me,
Something is dying, Quivering on the edge Of my soul. It is shaking Swaying in the lightest breeze
Something warm has curled up inside my chest. It is filled with hate, with sadness, with things I cannot express.
We used to have the same lunch, didn’t we? We used to laugh at the same jokes… wouldn’t we? We were woven from the same fabric
flirting with death ring the bell and run she knows it was you but she lets you go you are waiting to die.
Tired. So tired. My eyes fail and my soul gives up.
