Only

Something has left my life.
I have yet to decide whether or not it is a loss.
how many hundreds of cars have driven by, none see me.

the absolute emptiness I feel has always been there, but disguised by
happiness kept at bay through every day errands I pretend to be busy but there's nothing, emptiness in every action. Mechanical.

Remedy needed, lacking.
Confidence is superficial.

Wardrobe of rebellion is just a wardrobe.
I've killed something beautiful.

Slow motion freeze life. Everything changes nothing changes.
growing up staying young when does it all end?
I've travelled from troubles in other people's lives to troubles in my own.

Anger eats me alive. Consumes any goodness I have ever possessed,
fists constantly clenched. If anger is passion, I have succeeded.

I have been standing on this edge for so long just waiting for someone to push
like the subway platform but not behind the yellow line.
and fear of the future quietly whispering at the edge of my thoughts:
people marry, people die.

How many signs have I missed how shallow have I been how much pain have I caused.
I want to press a pause button, just stop it all.

My images are blurry because that's all that's inside of me:
a great big blur of nothing.
But, something.

How the year drags on and becomes so awkward.
Lines etched to perfection
but perfection seems a disease. please someone buy me flowers.

I'm finding it hard to understand how much of myself I have to throw
away before I can be considered good enough.

If I could write outside my lines about everything love should be and isn't, would you be satisfied?