And There Is Nothing Left Unsaid, And Yet A Million Things Unheard. The Chasm Between Us Widening And

And there is nothing left unsaid, and yet a million things unheard. The chasm between us widening and deepening and every word tumbles down into the depths and we remain. Sore throats and hoarse voices and strained eyes trying to make out the details of your face that drift farther away with each passing eternity. And I suppose, that we could jump. But who knows what awaits us? How far we will fall. If We will hit the bottom alive. If we will drown in the accumulated sea of sentences that have amassed over the years. If we will see each other the same in the darkness. If we will ever resurface.

But I will jump first. If only to know it will be your voice that drowns me. If only to attempt to consume everything you ever tried to say before it devours me instead. If only to be suffocated by your truth. If only to be laid to rest here, amongst the sins we birthed together. Here, next to the slowly disintegrating corpse of our love. And perhaps I will never know peace. But I will have known the whole of you, And that would have been enough.

the song of achilles is a story about the heartbreak that happens once in a lifetime, the heartbreak that kills you and drives you mad, the heartbreak you wish you'll never experience, the heartbreak that tears you apart until you lose yourself.

circe is a story about the heartbreak that you endure every single day, the heartbreak that consumes you from within, the heartbreak you know you can never escape from, the heartbreak that is so much a part of you that you don't even know yourself without it.

im sorry guys i just finished reading these two in a week and now idk what to do w my life thanks

I have this reoccuring dream

In which I am loved.

That is it.

That is the poem.

Short.

Because it never lasts

It never lasts.

My soul is tainted with sins I did not commit and I am guilty most days for being alive, when too many are not, though they would have chosen to be, and I dont know if I would choose to be if I was given the choice.

In my insatiability, I devour galaxies. Planets revolt inside me until I guilt myself to sleep. Cradeling stars in the craters of my teeth and dream of black abyss expanse swallowing me whole in revenge.

I fill the bathtub with every version of myself that has ever been loved, lay beneath the surface and drown myself in second chances. I sip a wine glass filled with cheap grocery store self love, alone on the floor of my bedroom at 2 am. I swear and curse until the flowers on my dresser wilt and hold a funeral for their corpses. I write a million poems that will never be read. There are words thruming in my veins, but I am so sick of cutting myself open to bleed them into existence.

I cant stand the sound of my own heartbeat most days, but the thoughts drown it out anyways. She says the silence isint supposed to hurt. And if it does, I am doing it wrong.Its not that I want to hate myself, its just that self love is an art I am not practiced in. And I have never much enjoyed partaking in things I am not perfected in.

Look me in the eye, love, and tell me that you can bear the person I have become. ~my miscellaneousness

I find your fingerprints littering the pages of all my poetry and I can't get them off without smudging the ink and ruining my work. I don't know why I let you touch it. But its more like it asked to touch you. And how could I say no? Have you ever tried to deny inspiration? And how could I blame my writing for wanting to hold you? How could I blame her?

I don't hate you for leaving but I despise you for making me think you might stay. Loathe you for letting me become accustomed to the comfort of your presence. The leaving always hurts more when it is unexpected. Wounds deeper when they are laid in the back. Taking longer to clot. Always scarring worse.

And now my lips are always chapped because you're not there reminding me to stop picking at them, and to lend me your honey lip balm. And I don't want to buy my own lip balm because its definitely going to remind me too much of you. But every time I am irked by flimsy peeling skin, like a scab begging to torn, a wound waiting to be reopened, that reminds me of you too. And so I heal and tear open stitches in a vicious cycle of remembering.

I just want to forget you.

I just want to forget you.

I am holding our love in my arms

She is dying

She is bleeding out

I don’t know how to save her

~

I did it

I didn’t mean to

Oh god, what have I done?

What have I done,

My love

~

She stains my hands with

Memories of us

As I try to staunch the bleeding

Exhales butterflies that die on her lips

Whispers to me

Of everything she could have become.

Says she doesn't blame me

But I do

But I do

And where were you when it happened?