You think I could do better 
I think you could do better
So why do we force it 
When it’s all broken fully 

I could easily forget you 
If I deleted your picture 
Forced you out of my mind 
You’d vanish from my life 

You’d be a memory
And we’d get rid of all this 
Hurting and arguing 
Constant misunderstanding 

Pretending that it still works 
When we know we can’t forgive 
Mistakes have been too many
I lost count while crying myself 

To sleep without you hugging me 
You don’t get me anymore
Or maybe you never did 
I just wanted it so bad 

I lied to both of us 
I needed you back then 
But now it’s just a burden
If you don’t understand anything

The wind has come back,
But I am vicariously feeling
Her whipping frustration.

A silently steady stream
Gusts her vile words
Into my whimpering ears.

I wish her hidden hands
Still held that feathered touch,
The likes of which held solace.

But now she bears her talons,
And is the striking hawk,
Aiming to blow my world over.

Screaming internally; sitting in silence.
Make these feelings wash away without a word spoken.

Articulating perceptions while throwing water on burning oil.
Flames and rainbows blend until the fuel is exhuasted.

I am exhausted.

With every word, with every misguidance
This sharp, unbearable thing that digs into the center of me.

This sweetness that I salt ‘till it is nothing but undrinkable sea water.

This love wrapped in the ribbons of Death; almighty Death-

The end of human connection.

I've met him twice; for months; and now years, into jubilees.
His name is Gabriel, and he means regret (in the language my heart only began to speak after him).

The way I know him, sinks deep into my soul like a splinter, hurting me more as he burrows. He refuses to love; is willing to be cared for. Never returns, doesn't even borrow, but nonetheless, he takes, and takes, and takes. He is a selfish man, the regret I've named Gabe.

We once held hands, and when I looked into his eyes, I poured my soul into the void he called his heart. And he took that love-and took it all, all, all and then gave it away.

My heart learned how to write songs because of Gabe. It broke, and it learned, and it began to write as if the endless words I wrote were expectant of the love he never gave; for the hurt he always seemed to be generous upon.

And I drank it all up, with a pinky held high, and he was not made of the substance I thought him to be.  But Gabe was a lesson, was an epiphany, was an age-old history (of aeons of regret).

Yet, he was once the substance that had made me.

A bitter heartbreak over a cup of tea.