i tried
i picked it up and
strummed some chords
but every time i try to sing the
lyrics i have written
i cry
and i'm done with this
i'm trying to write
but i can't
and this is why

i feel as if you're still here
and i'm scared of you
did you hear my words?
i'm scared of you
i'm scared of the feelings that seem to follow you
like ducklings following their mother
and you're always here
like those ****** demons
in those pitiful films
they call horror
and crap,
i feel bad
i feel really bad
and i know i shouldn't
but i do
and can you please stop?
you seem to be reigning over me
floating over my head
and it's constant
the thoughts i think
"i feel used"
"this entire thing was a lie"
"i'm an idiot"
and this isn't good
and it's scaring me
everything about you scares me now
and i'm glad it's over but then again,
i'm not
i'm really not
and i can't bring myself to sing
a song because that's what we used to do
and it's stupid
i know
but
that is why
i can't

i have began to know what it is
i want
but
now
i
am
impatient

longing
for that
one
thing
and it seems to be so distant from me

i can glance
at it
and
admire
it
dream of it
but it is still so distant from me

the dusty guitar sits in the corner
ancient strings
not emitting the sounds that they're supposed to
  
it's hollow
nothing but dust and air
and i can't get myself to pick it up
because every time i do
i think of all the times you would sing to me
that melody that rang in my ears
and spoke to my heart

he taps on my left shoulder
whispers the things i want to hear--lies
the seductive phrases that haunt my thoughts

his black sweatshirt aroma fills my nose
and thousands of memories run through my head
the rhythm of his heart makes a beat my feet involuntarily tap to

he taps on my right shoulder
whispers the things i know should be said
the honest and accurate sentences

his white tee shirt hugs his body in all the right places
and i remember hugging him goodnight
and feeling as if i molded to his ample body

one is the future
one is the past
two ropes
tied to my waist
each side tugging, pulling
but it's ultimately my choice
and i have not the faintest clue
not the faintest clue

it drips
down the strands of hair
that populate my scalp
seeping in the pores
penetrating the folds and fissures of my brain
it lodges itself in my cerebral cortex
impairing my thinking, judgement and reasoning

it reigns
it never ceases
continuously present