I am him,
The one,
The soft blue eyes,
The sullen sunken frown,
The swollen soured tongue,
I am him,
I am the poet,
My pain woven in words,
My hurt painted in pen,
My love etched in everything I envision,
Yes I am him,
She tells me so,
So yes it must be,
It must be my sorrow to fill these lines,
It must be my tears to fall at night,
It must be my heart to break so you may read,
You read these don't you,
I'm sure you do,
You think about me,
You laugh at me,
You cry for me,
But would you hurt for me,
Would you stay forever,
Would you keep me afloat in the murky waters of depression,
Would you never leave me to my own demons again,
They tear me from the inside,
Devouring my self esteem,
Consuming the confidence in my speech,
Sucking the life from my eyes,
Will you let your world burn,
To help rebuild mine from the ashes as it was before,
You told me once you liked fire as much as I did,
I never once thought I'd be the tinder,
But next time I'll hold the matches,
Next time we'll watch it burn together,
Your and my blue eyes,
Because there are no happy poets.
YOU ARE READING
Journal
PoetryThis is just a collaboration of poems that I wrote to get me through the day sometimes. Dealing with heartbreak tends to be deep and unforgiving but this was the only way I knew how
