You have such pretty wrists,
with veins ready to erupt.
After the rush returns, the agony continues haunting you like nightmare filled sleep.
In your broken reality describe beauty.
Smiling can be deceiving;
Eyes become narratives in what seems to be fiction.
Depicting tall tales, while everyone looks down on you.
The skies are grey and spotting silver linings are impossible
Hypothesizing solutions with pessimism and without patience.
These crying clouds resemble the look in your eyes.
Puffy and encircled in shadows.
You sweet child,
I can taste your innocence.
You seem stuck —
I lend my hand as leverage to help you up.
Stand on your feet not your hands.
Stand over life in triumph, without settling for ab-use.
Hardships come and go, tho it may sound like cliche
Everyone’s pain is different.
In the other hand,
I feel yours.
My press my ear against your illusions —
I hear your voice is hoarse from the screaming thoughts.
the “Why’s” and “Please”
Daily sculpting of symmetric tattoos, scarred geometry along your forearm.
Hieroglyphics caused by internal bleeding and bruising.
I can see into your heart,
Your pain is transcribed inmy mind as art.
I’ve never been here with you, but Ive come close.
Close enough to smell the color red…
Close to holding a knife, pulling a trigger, binging on liquor, or overdosing on drugs.
But the thoughts of losing myself doesn’t electrify me enough to pull the plug.
That would be too easy.
Trying to reacquaint myself with love.
At the same time, not wanting to be touched, but I yearning to feel the affection.
Everyone can surround the empty seat, but
I see you..
Do you feel me writing?
I am wishful my words will find you, despite the fact you’re hiding.