i've been on shutdown since eight months
eight months without the exhilaration
of the first note as my fingers graze piano keys
without the rush to get in before the trailers
my favorite concerts as i watch you sleep
without the hugs of a friend
without the magnetic touch of a sweet stranger
eight months with without
it's been a while
really
each second passes like a thousand lifetimes
every single moment
i search you
vapid
insane
mad
why do we have a place where
we can be who we are
why does that home exist
you
you
an irresistible urge to steal
an impulse over which you've lost control
the more you take from me
the more you give me
you take my heart
leave me with memories
bittersweet
why say things that you dont mean!
dont you get it?
your promises
are fleeting;
my expectations-
lasting.
you're not making me lose my mind
you've stolen it
i shouldn't have
yet i did
you weren't someone i should have gotten involved with
you
you are a kleptomaniac
you've stolen what's mine
you've stolen me.
~d.s.
21:53 PM
YOU ARE READING
Into The Black Hole
PoetrySometimes, pain becomes peace. Eureka! He's an oxymoron.It's been almost over eleven months; six months when it got way too critical, but I've been evolving and growing up out of it. It means much less to me now, and again, it keeps reminding me th...
