I'm sick and tired of writing about missing you. It's all I do, like I have nothing better to waste my time with. And the sad part is, it's true. Ever since we ended, I have been entirely consumed by the constant melancholy that you planted deeply into my soul. It is etched all over my insides, it flows through my veins, along with the alcohol that I drink to soothe my uncontrollable and furious missing of you. It is almost unbearable sometimes, having to hold myself together when the only thing that made me feel so greatly is clearly gone from my grasp. You slipped into another world, one where i couldn't reach anymore. One you could not be pulled out of. My hurt is starting to seep through my porcelain skin; I am not as strong as I thought I was. The rotten and stinging poison is starting to come up my throat and it is trying to make its way out of my suppressed body. My tears have finally come back. I cry as easily as I did before, but it always ends up being about you. Everything ends up being about you. I am constantly being reassured that this pain and heartbreak will not last forever, but it is hard to believe them when they are not the ones having to live with my tormented head and onerous heart. It is hard to see light when you have made darkness your home; your malign comfort. I can't keep pulling myself out of this incarcerating darkness, because I am slowly losing my strength. What is the point of escaping, only to go back again? I am addicted to the darkness you left inside me.
3/8/15
11:27 p.m.
YOU ARE READING
we were calamitous
Poetry"you and i were meant to collide like silken streaks across the velvet sky, we were meant to burn burn burn and rise up again from the ashes."
