The last thing I wrote,
on October 15th,
my confession to him,
my confession that I'm a fool;
I poured my hear,
my soul,
my mind,
my entire being
into that
most perfect
cognitive
visibility,
and it sucked me dry.
I am still in awe
that it took all I had left.
I am speechless,
my pen is lonely,
and my words
are lurking in my mind,
screaming
"Until you are crushed
once more, you shall write nothing.
Misery and depression are fodder
for the fire, much better than
the happiness you have now."
I'd like to take this moment
to let you know that I
would not give up this,
what I have with you,
for anything.
I could almost say
"I love you",
almost.
I do know I'm falling,
falling for you,
falling to you,
terrified that
you won't catch me,
or maybe you will,
but soon after, you'll
drop me, or throw me.
Again, here I am,
baring my soul
for all to see,
wearing my
wounds and scars
like medals,
something to be proud of.
Author notes
The poem I refer to is here: http://allpoetry.com/poem/5862549
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