the feeling of being trapped is enough to drive one mad.
the walls are fucking speaking to me these days ;
they whisper the sweet nothings that have tumbled from the lips of the one i love,
the words written for me
and only for me.
on any given day, you'll find me replying to them.
speaking to them like they were you
as if you were really here
i miss you sweeping me off of my feet, leaving me breathless-
times where i miss them most,
like now,
i wish i'd stopped breathing.
you don't understand the fear i live in.
i'm at a total disconnect, you're not
when i can speak,
can i really?
the deleting messages to cover my tracks
has gotta end,
sneaking around
in the name of love
has got to end.
it would,
and it could,
but i'm a coward-
too afraid of his wrath,
too scared of him being able to finally
separate us,
nahmean?
it's you that i want,
it's peace of mind i want,
but i'm not afforded the luxury of either here
at least, not lately.
YOU ARE READING
past oblivion.
Poetry"what can i really say?" used to be my words, when i didn't know as much. when i got older, i responded to myself. "everything." now, i realize that i can use my breath to speak on everything in existence, from dust on jupiter to the depths of hell...
