Alone with a brain.

I am only brave when my soul is quiet.

I don’t really talk that much.

Sometimes words fall out of me,

sideways

Chipped and dented from the harshest angles of my best intentions.

Sanded down by anxiety,

Until the smallest grain of what I meant to say, is the only thing left.

I am only afraid when I think too much,

And it’s funny because you once told me that I was so honest...

And maybe that’s because I only speak to you when the nighttime drapes itself over my senses,

When the only thing I see is the calm and silence of the darkness surrounding me.

When the only thing I can reach is empty space.

I can still taste you on my lips here.

And my brain is too tired of hearing its own chatter to convince me that  I should be afraid.

To convince me that this peace in my heart is only a breeze...

That the tide has yet to rise,

That my temper has yet to break,

That these clouds are not really fading away...

That feeling so calm late at night is the teaser trailer, of my anger clearing its own path;

Walls i haven't yet breached, are building a labyrinth of  bridges in the pit of my stomach.
Connecting.
Waiting.

Waiting for the 6th of January.

Waiting to unravel itself like the worst behaving ocean that exists in my heart.

Buying time to help me forsee that my fists aren't clawing at my insides,

They're clawing past my spine,

Reaching for the earth to tear this floor apart;

Clawing to reach the part of me i threw away and never thought I'd want to pull back.

I am only a poet when I cannot speak my thoughts.
I am only fearful of the silence echoing in the hallways of my past.