I think.

I think I might be able to pick myself back up and put back together again. 

I think. 

I think I might thrive and survive were you to remove yourself from me.  

I think.  

But I cannot guarantee myself this can happen and I smother in my own demise.  

I think I might stay broken this time.  

I think I’ve scattered to far to collected my aching pieces.  


2012

Oh please, I beg you.

Oh but you must.  Oh but you might.

Give me back the flesh of my soul. 

I’ve emptied out and poured into you.

My hollow hurting shell remains, remained to me a throbbing reminder

I try to fill back but I no longer posses the ingredients needed to whole myself again.

You do, you have, you are.  

I didn’t realize I’d seeped out until I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath, 

couldn’t breath in anything other than this darkness. 

Your presence pierced me through the bones and through the stars that make me both tangible and scattered dust. 

I scatter, I shatter I throb.  

You.  You.  I beat.  You.

2012