platonic

love like this is simple.
no expectations; just life, lights
and us. simply put, it is perfect.
purely platonic, but this is perfect.
no jealousy or heartbreak
looming around the corner.
just two people, some stories to share
and a good time to be had.
we’re nothing but good friends
so know that I love you.
know that if you have no one else,
you have me.
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broken

torture me.
break my body
break my heart
and break my soul
break everything I’ve got
until there is nothing
left of me
save for my bones.
let me keep those.
let me make something
out of the shell
of who I used to be.
let me keep those.
I need a reminder
of who I used to be
so I can see how I’ve grown.
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late night panic

and in his indulgence of thought,
his sanity was foregone;
left alongside the sun as it slipped beyond the horizon.
gently. for the madness seeps in like a slow poison.
the anguish only when it’s far too late.
and he screams.
and he screams.
and he gasps hopelessly for useless oxygen,
grasping desperately for sunlight only a few hours away.

We touched the stars

“At first, she never really wanted it.
she just went along with it because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time”

“But as I did everything fell into place
Just like our existence in this universe”

“So sudden– she wasn’t sure what to do with it.
she found herself in the middle of high school, deeply in love and obsessed with music”

“It consumed my days, my nights.
My life revolved around this burning passion,
But I could never chase my dreams”

“She thought dreams were just that: dreams that stay with the stars in the sky.
she didn’t want to crush my hopes by denying me the right to chase the stars,
but she would have never guessed that we would actually catch them”

Dead Words

There
I was.
doling out my
sincerest condolences to my
pen as it wept across
browning pages in a dimly lit
room during the dead of night.
I didn’t mean for the
words to stop. One
moment, they just
did. Faded
away
in front
of me like
the sun slipping beyond
the horizon. Words they were
no longer; remnants of incomplete
thoughts and death and
desperation– that is
what faced
me
whenever I
glanced back upon
the furious scribble of
internal strife and agony
that I presented
as my
writing.
Futile, yet
somewhat comforting words;
that was my
gift to
the
world that
scorched my
soul.