Warm & Close

All I wanted was for you to be happy,

and now through the gates, I understand your thoughts,

processes like why you used to worry about me,

things piled up slowly,

trying to kill me,

but they couldn’t quite kick my habits.

I have had some bright news,

I write more often now,

sometimes I hate it though,

it reminds me of bunches.

 

Something inside of me is pushing to get out,

I have been clawing my secret way through an internal hell

clasped around a smile,

I have killed myself several times

to forget some communicated elements,

but I remember,

somewhere,

you were all I had

in the sore plateau of

love and happiness,

so temporary.

 

Sometimes, my deafening yell

hides a silent cry,

a little Norah Jones is just fine,

a little silence,

a little long run,

the lovely conversations between us,

so bittersweet,

your voice.

 

It’s hard getting rid of places,

it’s a line I haven’t been able to cut,

like I am still messed up,

I asked for your forgiveness,

but I never understand why I do the things that I do,

I never understand the frantic one I am,

it’s like a big game.

 

Sometimes I am a little lost.

Sometimes I wish the broken didn’t crave the broken.

Sometimes I wish a new poem would not be needed

just to hear your voice,

it’s one of those nights,

I am sorry.

If only I could see myself from your eyes.

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