poems.

two.

so I've waited some time
I observed your habits of
getting drunk'n calling me

finally we sat down and talked

every sentence of yours just couldn't finish without taking a sip, a drag, breathing a hopeless breath,
but you let me listen to everything

you talked and handed me all of your broken puzzle pieces like little-lego-details, but you didn't care what I built with it
and I would like to switch the language, would like to talk
more than mother tongue, more than any talking, I would like to read you, all of your body language
I would like to speak you like a new found way to communicate,
but
it's not that easy

you offered me your thoughts of falling, getting down,
jumping actually,
jumping in front of that train
you looked into my eyes and waited for some kind of reaction,
but I just wanted you to finish,
cause sitting in front of me right now means that you haven't done anything

again
you drank and looked for another cigarette
I kind of smiled,
noticing your habits as if I'd be watching a work of art

it was last sunday
as you wanted to end this
it was me saying:
"that's too much of work for a sunday"
and you seriously laughed
"true."

we sat there in silence as you spilled it out like poison eating you from the inside out:

"I'm so sick of wanting love. I'm sick of hating myself. how do I make all of this pain stop? all of this screaming inside my head. I just want it to stop.
all of it."

so I took your glass and emptied it

"explain what love means to you."
you said
but

"if I could explain
my definition of love,
I wouldn't ever have
to write a poem
again"

was my answer
still is

and I still don't know
if I may help you at all
if any of it helps
I think you don't know it yourself,
but
I didn't leave that night
not because you were sad,
just because I wanted to stay
stay right next to you laying in bed and watching stars through your open windows,
exchanging music we missed to listen to for quite a long time,
shared memories of another world
and maybe
me staying,
people wanting you in their life
is all you should really know to explore that
every thought about death is
at least in your case
a desperate search for love
and
how crazy as it seems

love is already surrounding you
you're not alone
I'm already there
so
you don't have to end anything
except hating yourself for being human, for feeling weak,
you really just need to allow yourself to be not okay

"try it"
was what I offered you to do
"what?"
"try to feel it, try to heal, try to move on, get up and take life as yours. at least try it."
"why?"
"cause that's what you've already started last sunday."

it was a sunday two days ago
one poem is left
one part
to just end all of this