I Was Loved

Funny how fast things can go from present to past participle.

It happens so smoothly, it seems no one notices at all

From one day choosing furniture and lying naked, joking

To ignoring each other in public, to barely noticing

To making out as if there was never a spark at all.

Or are we fronting?

Seems cliche to say, but I'm sure that there's more,

I'm sure there's some facet in this we hadn't yet explored,

Something that would bind us closer and indefinitely

But there's too many missed words to allow these things.

I see you on the corner, but I see you aren't mine.

You're everyone else's.

I remember reaching out to friends, asking "where do I go from here?"

Their answer? "Just go away, it'll be worse than you've ever feared"

And I laughed and shrugged them off, saying "what do you know?

You don't know the kind person I am now, I've grown tenfold!

There isn't anything that I cannot accomplish"

But how can anyone predict another?

Coming "home" for days and playing husband,

Cleaning every corner of the house, at least he ones he wasn't in

And hoping to be met with some sort of astonishment

"You're the best, holy shit, we're so lucky to have met"

Watching documentaries of people I don't care about

Only to ask you more of them.

Never once was I met with a question, of why I am me;

Of what makes me tick, of where I wanted to be,

Of dreams and plans and fears and ultimately fantasies.

All I ever heard was "you're not this, you're not me"

So glad that there's sanctuary after the fall,

At least, I thought there was.

Moping, mourning, laying awake until 4 AM

And wondering why you won't ever touch me again.

You're six inches away and yet there's no desire

There's no reason to be here other than I'm hoping for desire

You blame it on everything else but what's in front,

But we both know better than that.

Lying here in the break of dawn alone, and writing out my laments,

I'm wondering why you did those, and where we could have been,

I'm jealous of everyone, of people I've never met

And yet I'm anxious of what will happen, of your astonishment

That everything's that's been said has been a front,

As hurt as I am, I cannot hurt you back.

I was once loved, and met with it each and everyday

From feeling you wrapped around me, to in between prolonged gaze

And now I' just an afterthought, I'm just a past tense,

I'm less of a man, rather, I'm more of a failed chance.

I'm everything I don't wanna be,

I want to be presently loved.

These Vacuous Days

These vacuous days

Wasting daylight

Just for the nightlife

Where I know you'll be

These wasteful years

Because I'm afraid

To put in the effort

To become my best

The act of revenge

Never satisfies

Living well is never

The best act of revenge

Nothing is ever as lonely

As allowing yourself to be

In hopes that absence

Makes the heart grow fonder

Only to find that

Once you are absent

You are not missed

And life goes on.

Without you.

The worst part about being alone is allowing your mind to wander

And resorting to something you're not to satiate the need to know.

Panicked Works

There's nothing but panic in this contrived state of being.

Slipping in and out of love with yourself and with the ones you surround yourself with,

Where everything you try and everything you do,

You feel yourself kicking to stay alive but only find that

You're sinking deeper.

There's a melody in the air that buzzes and croons

And everybody you know is singing the same fucking tune

You purse your lips and stretch your vocals chords in every which way,

But you can't harmonize at all,

Nothing works.

Your panic pounds in your ears and you shapeshift for weeks,

Trying to find a new you that only seems to please

You clean up your mistakes and you put the past behind,

But still you're drowning, you're fucking drowning.

Just let go. No, you can't.

You can't allow yourself to die

So you kick with all your might

But you're down. Yes, you're at the bottom.

Which way do you swim when you're disoriented

And every direction points down?

You're falling away. You're slipping apart.

You can't even harmonize and you've forgotten how to rhyme.

Everyday you're just a little bit farther away,

While this trainwreck fucks your organs.

There's a song all your friends are singing,

Their voices are lovely and full of life,

They sing about fortune

And progress

And success

And love

And fulfilled dreams

And accomplished desires

And you know just how you sound,

You want to flesh the song out,

And add your little tune,

But whatever chords you try,

No matter the shape of the song.

Nothing seems to work.

Nothing ever works.

Pass

There's a restless wandering that happens in the bleak hours of the night,
Summoning upon the thresholds of some unfamiliar skin
That you wound up contemplating back in your teens.
You dreamt of this.
The fall out was something more than just tangible, something common and
Not fallen upon this stark and trusty road.
Writing for the act of rambling.
Rambling on to subdue of the wily throes of passion.
No passion.
No passive aggressive.
No nothing
Let it all die.

An Old Home Of Black

Prelude, keep it quiet.

Softer than the brush of the blanket when a lover

Finds a new position in their sleep.

Softer than the exhale of breath you cherish

When you know you're the only one hearing it.

Safe sounds, safe house. Don't overdo it.

Don't overstay your welcome, make the heart grow fonder.

Please tell me that you want me to stay.

Please wake up and tell me all the things I want to hear.

But still the soft, questionable silence.

I can't pretend we didn't meet upon undesirable terms,

But what makes you think our lives haven't played out the way they were meant to be?

With you by my side, I confessed and you cried,

With our heads in our palms, we knew not what would happen next.

You've expressed your doubt and addiction to failure back in the winter,

And no one knew what to make out of that.

I confessed my love proudly and yet bashful,

You confessed your desire but not your intent, not your dedication.

It was a calamitous mixture of lust for forbidden fruit and

The raw, unhinged passion and knowledge that

You knew exactly who you were and what you wanted.

And now we're in two separate rooms, as I ramble on

"She doesn't love me" to void myself of anything nostalgic.

Concocting new mumblings under my OCD ridden breath

To allow what once was to take new life, particularly so that we're on the same page.

Unrequited is not sad enough of a word to describe love.

But doesn't it seem wasteful to not even attempt to have passion?

To pretend that what you found in the beginning isn't there anymore?

To not see through the things you've both repented and forgave

And to just once again see the beautiful you that was there 9 months ago?

Let's pretend that we're both not better people, that we can both be callous.

And while we're making up fantasies, let's just both imagine what life is like

Being by an endless raging ocean, standing on the shore and just hoping that

The waves aren't so much that they'll suck you in, causing panic and confusion

And reactions you never thought you'd see out of someone you

Just moments ago saw being so serene and warm, loving and gentle.

Upstairs, there is a box of jewelry, each one ridden with a thousand stories

That I will never get to hear.

There's a painting from an old lover with a message so genuine on the back of it,

But never fully became realized.

Is this to my benefit?

Or more of a revelation?

There's a casket needing closing buried in the walls of this house,

But you keep revisiting the corpse and letting it's rot fill into our lungs.

There's disturbance in the silence so loud that it keeps me awake in the late hours.

There's not enough time left for me to do everything I can to fix it.

I can fix anything if you'd try.

I'm just waiting for the inevitable,

I'm just putting off what I know I cannot do.

I don't get what I want, and neither does anyone else.

So I'll do what I do best: I'll fight to the end,

I'll prod and doubt, do everything ugly until there's nothing left.

I want nothing more than to be your best friend

From here until eternity, with boundless love dispersed within.

I'll write you songs, though I don't for anyone

I'll express myself in art that I'll just disguise as fun.

Even though it's killing me, I can feel myself unravel

There's nothing worse than losing a loved one.

So I'll do my very best, and follow through in what I say,

I'll show that I'm a better man and I'll prove it day by day

I can't allow myself to falter out of your good grace

So I'll repent and show remorse and that I meant every promise.

But will that be enough to bring love back?