You die in time to realize somethings aren’t worthwhile.
You wallow in abusive relationships because that’s all you have in that moment. You need something darker to bring you to truth.
It never truly mattered. None of it. Neither of us. It was one out of billion moments and I took it for more than it was; that’s why we’re always so brokenhearted.
I said your name five times too many because I was searching to see if you came when I needed you.
My inspiration comes from little things. I look at conversations, the way people grasp, reflections of their clothing and personality. You can write about anything and create metaphors from it.
When lacking, I usually write for 15 seconds without thinking and seeing if it makes sense and then making sense of it.
I was nineteen. You had your lips on my neck and whispers in my ear. You drove me crazy. But I mistook crazy for absolute happiness.
drafts on your skin
words of your neck
i’m spinning in heaven
caressing in hell
we’re dancing as if
we’re the only ones
I told you I loved you, but I said it a little too late. You move in time and sometimes our timing is against one another.
And I wonder if the moment I die will know it’s the moment I die.
Time never touched you. It touched me and then I seemed to regret everything. Your hair in my face, eyes in my mind, a darkness I found in you. But you don’t regret. You hold within. You feel in memory because love lost is still a love once had. You remember passion, conversations over dinner, moments interwoven before each other. We die to live, not die to cry over memories which don’t last our expected timeframe.