Life is a frail moth flying. Caught in the web of the years that pass.

You were fucking me without touching me;

How could I not fall for that?

I’m back and posting! Sorry to everyone for the long absence.

“I don’t want to see anyone. I lie in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and nothingness washing over me like a sluggish wave. Whatever is happening to me is my own fault. I have done something wrong, something so huge I can’t even see it, something that’s drowning me. I am inadequate and stupid, without worth. I might as well be dead.”

― Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye

I would ruin you,
if you ever got close.
I would build you monuments and statues and dedicate them to you,
I would create masterpieces of art based upon your eyes
and write poetry about the way your hands move when you talk.
I would hold your hand and guide you along my favorite places,
and show you the way I dig my feet in the sand while at the beach.
I will crack open my ribs, hand you my heart,
and then demand that you give it back, within seconds of you touching it.
I will romanticize you,
and one day I will wake up,
look outside and see the sunshine,
and want to write about it instead,
so I will run,
and I will ruin you.
I will hand you the sun,
and bring the moon right down to you.
I will build sandcastle sculptures
and snowman look alikes that hold hands.
I will call you at three in the morning and tell you I am scared of you leaving,
but the next day, I will be gone.
I will leave,
and I will ruin you,
so you might as well not even come close.
My heart is everywhere but beating inside of my chest
and I don’t know how to love.