love

Love

I feel for you.  I Don’t receive that feeling from you. 

And that expectation kills my drive to be a friend to you. Because it feels like unrequited love and it makes me feel,  makes me feel wasted. Unappreciated. Lost.  Used. 
Like I was a plaything for you. Like you loved me till you did and then you just didn’t.  And I didn’t stop loving you. 
Do you know how hard that is. 
That there are tears in my eyes if I even think about what I feel for you.  The depth is staggering.  
It’s a place which drove me mad and now I have to overcome it.  
Somehow deny a huge part of me that loves you. 
How does one do that?

There’s no end to the misery I can make myself go through on your behalf.  
Yet I have to somehow overcome it.  Because I can’t suffer forever. 

No one’s to blame. 

But every time I look within. There’s a part of my heart that demands recognition. Which says,  to love you,  to wallow and surrender to this love for you an burn myself in the process. 
I ignore it. 

That’s how we move on? Right? We forget. 
Forgetting you is leaving a part of myself behind till I regain enough energy and experience to replace it. 
Till then I walk through fire. 

And you.  

I wished you did too. But then that’d make two of us and how can I wish so much pain to someone. 
So you.  You be.

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Surgery

Maybe picking up yourself is the hardest

When you have taken an oath 

To twist the knife to your wounds 

And decided to bleed. 

How do you take a step back

Pull the knife  out of you

Free yourself from the sweet pain of disaster 

That you’ve become to accustomed to

Perform the surgery. 

Pull the knife out

Amputate the gangrene

Stitch yourself up

And stand straight

Without the pain. 

Again. 

How would it feel to fly

After crawling for ages

How would it feel to try

Once again what you’ve tried

And failed. 

Maybe while at it

I’ll push the knife deeper and deeper. 

Hurt the ones around me

And sicken the hell out of them

Because who wants a person who wants to die

Whose basic instinct runs upstream 

The fishes that dream

What a beauty will you be

If you perform the fucking surgery

Cracks in the heart

Cracks in the heart

We were broken from the start

Fucked over and over

We were screwed at last

Built a boat to row away

We were poets gone astray

Shoutout to the tiny minds

We were shoved in your narrow kind

Sweating out the lovely gift

We were built to slowly rip

Love me like you weren’t spent

We were fucking like there’s no end

Over and out believe it or not

We were bloody fools to rot

Flourish in your barren state

We were stupid to wait

Cracks in the heart

We were broken from the start

Move

Move your battle away from the time

When you felt like your trust was taken piece by piece and shot down until it was beyond repair. 

Move your battle away from the feeling 

When your heart skipped a beat,  not in love but surrounded by fear and insecurity. 

Move your battle away from the life

Where you lived in a paranoia, an illusion that they were out to get you and you had to escape. 

Move your battle away from the hell

That you gave yourself for falling weak in your knees and giving yourself away for too little. 

Move your battle away from the death

Of happiness inside your body where every cell within you cried and hoped it would cease to exist. 

Move your battle away from the battles that need to be left alone.  The battles you don’t have to fight.  The battles you’re not meant to deal with.  

Your battle is life.  It is living.  Now.  Not then when things were happier or worse.  Now.  

Right fucking  now. 

Live. 

Fight the battle to live.  To feel.  To believe.  To recover.  

To love. 

Yourself first.  

The seventy fifth time

For

The seventy fifth time I repeat.

It’s okay.

It’s a ritual of each breath

Breathe in

Breathe out

Caught myself from falling down

And Collapsing in a heap

Bitter judgement

Better thoughts

Are yet to come.

For

The seventy fifth time I repeat

It’s okay

Believing in my voice

Is harder than before

It falters every bit

Settles the score

Of haunted dreams

Manifested in sound

It quivers with sadness

Built on hope

For

The seventy fifth time I repeat

It’s okay

Closing my eyes

Blocking the beauty

Blinding me from within

Hate rising up to my eyes

Brimming with tears

Ready to gush out

Soaked with shame

Of plenty weak moments

For

The seventy fifth time I repeat

I repeat it’s okay

I repeat it’s fine

I repeat it’ll get better

I repeat the sun will be kind

The moon will care

And the body will dare

Another chance at  love

Hoping for escape

From despair.

I Little titles of existence 

Done

I have exhausted my capacity of loving.  I have loved you with a million little pieces of my soul.  Giving you a million little pieces of myself.  I am done. 

Finding

Now.  Its about the million little pieces of me that you threw away on the way to moving on.  Where do I search for them?   Where do I find myself? Pick me up and bind myself. 

Extract

And if I do find a piece or two lying around the old haunts,  how do I extract myself from them? I don’t have the energy. I don’t have the will.  I wander aimlessly in search for myself, not wanting to be myself. 

Grow

Why don’t I grow a million little pieces again?  Form myself whole, again. 

How?  How do you ask a flower to Bloom after it has wilted?  It dies. And seeds. There are seeds.  I have seeds.  Where do I plant them? My body feels barren. 

Fertility

Where did all the potential for my future go?  Down the drain with a million little pieces. Barren mind full of sadness, only more sadness it begets. 

I am not fertile.  I am sad.  Sadness grows on me birthing a million little pieces of sadness. 

Calming

It takes a million little breaths and slight pauses to calm myself down. To breathe fully and hope to regain enough energy to build upon the barren land a fertile Base where I can flourish once again. 

Hope

I had.  Million little pieces full of me and my hope. Lost. 

Love

I do.  Million little pieces of hard work on Unconditional and undying. Lost.