I used to think that blue eyes were beautiful
as everyone does
but I’ve been noticing lately an apathy behind them
whether it’s hidden well or it isn’t.
I used to think, too, it was only a single pair of blue eyes
that bore resemblance to that revile that I loved so much
but I’m getting better at looking past vibrant irises
and into a narcissistic stoicism.
Don’t get me wrong,
I still think that they’re beautiful,
a vivid and dispassionate warning that there is pain ahead,
and now that I’ve come to understand what lies behind them
I love them even more.
Every day I get closer to you
and every day it gets easier
to pull farther away from him.
I remember being at your side when you were breaking
doing everything that I could to keep your heart from aching.
I would have spent every day and every night telling you what you meant to me
making sure that you understood just how amazing I thought that you could be.
But when it came time for my walls to crumble
you left me in the dark to grope and stumble
somehow nowhere in sight, as I fell down into shambles
but still being there to drive the knife in by the handle.
Even now, I would still be there to hold your hand in the dark
when I know I mean nothing to you, and I’m the only one breaking my own heart
so, if you can’t bring yourself to bother with me too
then I don’t want to be the only one that gives a damn about you,
Laying in the dark, for what felt like hours,
as the sky fell around me and the stars littered the ground I laid on
I dared not to move in fear that the pain would find me.
I had eluded it all somehow, but I knew that it was searching for my heart again
so I hid like prey, behind the moon and amongst the clouds
hoping that my light would burn up before torment had a chance to smother it.
I wondered how much longer I could escape, continue to run from the bitter truth
that had been following me already for so long, for years.
The sun had heard my plight as it was told by the moon and the stars
so it offered me refuge, that I might teach it how to love
but by then I was already gone.
Death comes on a sliding scale,
it is never fair or just,
but only ever slightly surpasses what we’re capable of bearing.
There is large death, and small,
death of the heart, and mind,
but worse yet
the death of a soul.
Death can set us free
or lock us away
but will never deny us the ability to choose.
True death, comes only where it is not welcome
and send imposters and pretenders in its place
where it is called for.
Death comes for all of us at least once
some 100 times before they really die
and whether or not it has the chance to run away with us
will always be a question
until it is done.
Everything about me
makes me long for you,
and every long day
makes me miss those fleeting moments
we shared together.
Every tear I shed
of the ones you wiped from my face
and as the pain gets a little worse
I try not to remember
how you made it better.
Every word I write
is pushing you away
so for now
I’ll be the one thats new
and you can be weathered.
The more you hurt me
the more I believe that
perhaps my masochism
is getting out of control…