Collections of Embellished Fictions, Philosophies, and Poetry

There's No One I Really Care About

October 16. 2021.

I'm scrolling through my contacts
But there's no one I really care about
No one to tell
"I love you," to,
words I'm aching to say.

There is love in my body
that I'm barely holding in
I'm close to bursting
With nothing to spill into
At the end of the day.

And it hurts to explode
Every single night, wishing
I could be like everybody else
To love another so easily
And give themselves each other.

It tastes of light spring mornings
And perfect warmth
Not too overbearing, but in my chest
It feels so much so, so
I sit here in the heat, yearning for spring.

There is love in me that I cannot spend
And I wish to give it all
And to receive in turn, so my mind
Is balanced and not haunted
By the ghosts of what I could be.

I love to love, I love loving
And it hurts as much as loving someone
Without receiving an answer to the question
There is a kinship between me and it
Is it possible to fall in love with love?

Is it possible to hurt when I don't recieve
The answer from what I wish to give?
I want so many things in life
I want so many things
That I cannot have.

I can't lift the restlessness in my limbs
I can't still the beat of my heart
I can't love anybody
I can't fall in love with anybody
But I love love

Take me to the ground, reaper
Save me not from death nor disease
Take away the pain this idle love
Is causing me, rotting me from the inside,
Leaving my lungs hollow, unbreathing.