With blue ink pumping through my veins,
I write my poems on bathroom stalls,
begging for the oxymoron of anonymity
I can feel myself drifting to the place
I fought so hard to leave.
People try to tell me
that the power it possess isn’t enough
to reel me in again,
but half of it is me.
The darkness in that place
consumed a part of me, then
it put on a cruel mask, disguised
as the part I lost, as my second shadow.
So here I am, taking off
standing at the gate
to my demise.
The very place I’d swore
I would never return.
and here I am.
When the city of light falls into darkness,
the mourning citizens ignite the flames
inside the hearts of others as they light
the candles to help those who were lost,
find their way home.
I’m sorry that I’m sometimes
too tired to get out of bed, or
too emotionless to laugh at your jokes.
I’m sorrt I’m distant, and that
I rarely smile anymore. Hopefully
you know this isn’t about you, and
that I don’t know how
to help myself.
you left me with nothing but your name,
still ringing in my ears, and a devestating virus
you made me feel so safe- you held my hand
when I was scared and I depended on you,
to the of whetr I couldn’t save myself. you
dropped me and I fell, not quite remembering how to
stand back up again.
I’m still waiting to wake up.
I’m sorry you got trapped
when the galaxies dissapeared from
my eyes while you were among them.
you shouldn’t have gotten so close to me,
I should have warned yoy about the giant
black hole forming in my heart and soul.
maybe someday they will return,
and hopefully you will, too, if
you haven’t fallen apart completely. even if you
do come back, black hearts are contagious,
and now you are plagued with the same fate.
and I am sorry.
flying through my telescope,
I leave my dry reality
to tread through
an ocean of stars.
Breathe me in like a fine perfume,
i want to take over your senses.
i want to fill your bloodstream and
invade your thoughts.
i want you to think of me whenever
you’re lonely or sad.
i want you to know that i
will always be here, even if
you can’t say the same.
Your kisses are like whiskey,
and i want to get drunk
off of your smooth lips.
Your touch is like acid,
bringing me to new heights
when you run your fingers
through my hair.
Your voice is like cocaine,
and i can never get enough.
i am addicted to you
like others are addicted to drugs.
i’m still trying to decide
whether i’m good enough.