I Tell You I Love You All You Can Say Is “Why?”

I know better I just ache for it so deeply I am willing to risk my sanity

words matter

but intent matters more

I wonder sometimes  - okay, more than sometimes - if your inner demons  - those bastards; fuck them - let you feel what you actually feel  - not just the watered down emotions which manage to filter through your walls - would you be able to love me  - would you be in love with me -

I don't know that I've ever heard a more apt turn of phrase than "consumed by depression"

It swallows me whole without remorse and I wonder if this is the time I am truly consumed

I want...

I want to rail. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to yell out horrible things about him and make him feel as useless and broken as I do.

I want his arms around me. I want him to stroke my hair and tell me it will be okay. I want to believe it will be okay. I want to be safe. And secure.

But no one hears my wants as they fall directly into the blackness which was once my heart.

Time again to box it all up. Put it away. Pretend I don’t feel. Time to lose myself in mundanity. Hide from passion. Give up on hope.

Collected

You collect hearts    the way others collect shells Shiny hearts full of love    you are too scared to return Holding them to your ear    to admire the way they admire you Then back on display    until your ego needs another stroke There my heart sits in your display case,    dripping love and devotion Among the other trophies,    stolen by the heart collector

It's not about you anymore.

If your name crosses my lips

It is in punishment of myself

For being the fool