There is nothing worse than dying twice. Praying for more but getting nothing. Making scars out of tainted windows I peer through, losing myself in paintings, in the sorrows of love. I flow with clouds in clear skies. More hopeful, more open, more ready. I hold the ceiling above my head, having embraced the sadness, the sheets of rain, I am ready to go with nature, the aspects of earth leaving me feeling like I\'ve been pushed aside. I thought I was invisible to the eye, but I\'ve never stood out more going about my day. Words fall from my mouth to make rhymes, I leave them behind, in blushes, in hearts, in pellets of smoke compliant with the end of the world.
I found myself broken. Wide open on the floor of the forest, my unsettled mind is waiting. Within seconds I had turned anticlockwise, to face the burning sun, as I felt our relationship disintegrating like ashes. We ran into each other and we exploded. The nuance is evident, in corners. We knew it from the get go, from the moment we seen life in motion picture. We stood in the silence, knowing this would happen, knowing we would reciprocate the bitterness, as I often enumerate my problems for a crowd of faces, and shout about how I wish I would disappear. I can\'t get blood from a stone, and I wish we could be congruent with the words we say. I wish we didn\'t have to take things too far, beyond repair. I walk into my bedroom and leave the door ajar. I rinse my hands, even when the soap gets into the cuts and it hurts.
You sit in the other room, unable to look at me, unwilling to let me make things right. I hold the damage, the African violet. Before I know it, it\'s 4 a.m. and I should go to bed, but I can\'t help but think about the disconsolate evening and how I remember you in poems. I don\'t possess the competence to hold back. This cataract of emotions that I\'ve been holding in has made me weak. I know the love is categorical. I know the dependence on the addiction has made me desperate, and at times, when I call for freedom, I feel worthless. As dawn sets, as my hair wets, as the bruises fade, our lips depart.