She.

41. Missing.

I miss you.
More than I've missed anything.
I crave you.
Your very skin.
Your fingertips against,
My temple,
Running down my face.

I miss your,
Kiss.
Your caress.
I miss your breathe,
Against the nape of my neck.
I miss your voice.
And your laughter,
Was always like a melody.
A beautiful tone stuck in my head.

A tragedy.
I miss the way you didn't leave.
I hate that you became the very,
Dream I was trying to achieve.
You showed me life and gave me energy.
And sooner then later you were gone.
Like my sanity.

I miss you.
Your very being.
But now I see,
What I was always meant to see.
Your underlying truth.
The picture was perfect with just you.

No place for me.
I am a liability.
Expendable.
Never a priority.

I miss you.
But my voice will have to be,
Trapped inside of me.
No speaking up.
No traveling.
The little heart that's left,
Is in catastrophe.
Pieces hanging off,
Rotted holes inside of me.

I miss you.
Because you took half of me.
My heart.
My soul that's tied off to yours.
My voice.
My ability to ever love again.

You took it with you,
And claimed it was for good riddance.
I miss you.
I miss the part of me,
That you took from me.

I miss me.
Miss me.
Me.
Who am I?
You see.

I am "She."
I am you.
I am your luvr,
I am your bestfriend,
Your mother,
Your feelings,
Your mind,
Your heart,
Your unheard voice.
I am "She."
I am nobody.
I am everyone.
I am your peace of mind.
Your conscious,
Sigmund Freud Id,
Unconscious mind.
I am everything.
I am nothing.
A black hole.
An endless sea.
I am love.
And despair.
Light and dark matter.

You have not experienced all of me.
What's inside me.
To miss me.
The way that I miss me.
The way that I experienced all of you.
To miss you the way that I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss me.
But we were both gone.
Both in-disposable to me.
I was alone.
With nobody to miss me,
But me.