The soft sounds,
of
his breath,
on
mine.
The picture,
I kept
of
you.
I look at
it,
still.
I wait,
each night,
&
talk
quietly
to myself.
Because I know,
that,
if I don't
do
something,
to keep
my
mind sane,
I may
never know,
if it's
really
you,
or
me.
I walk,
down these stairs,
echos
on the floor boards,
dripping
down the walls,
they
feel as real,
as you do,
in my
arms.
And so,
I must,
once
again,
realize I may
never
know.
What part of
me,
reaches
our for you,
to tame
the thirst
I see
in you.
Or,
if it's just
me,
&
my cluttered mind,
seeking solace,
in a task
I can understand,
the game
of
chasing
you.
The edges,
this is where
you'll find
her.
Where
he lies,
breathing
just beneath
the surface.
The surface,
where she knows
she should
be.
That is only
where
she sometimes
wanders,
on nights
she can't sleep.
And so,
you will find her
here,
with me,
on pages,
lost long ago.
In the margins,
on the tips
of a pen,
where she
knows
she'll
find him.
The stories,
they write themselves,
don't they.
The story
of who they
are,
what they've
become.
My salvation,
your fantasy.
Their test,
of my sanity,
her
existence,
his
faith,
I find them
there.
The sounds,
of
echos,
their voices,
in my
head.
That's what I
hear,
when I sit
here.
That
repeating
pattern,
of love,
courage.
Pain.
THIS,
this is who I
am.
Them.
I.
Am.
Them.
And they,
are
me.
So,
here
we
go
again.
The beautiful
lullabye,
the peace I feel,
when I feel
you.
Close to me,
once again.
Their embrace,
the sirin call,
the future
I can
see
from here.
The one
they promise
me.
The one
I choose
to
believe,
is true.
The one,
where
I
always
end up,
with
you.
Your touch,
&
breath
upon my face.
The gentle
sands
of this
place,
upon my skin.
These things still
remind me
of
you.
The call
I
hear,
as I set
my
feet
upon this
sacred
ground.
These too,
remind me
of
you.
The shallow
shore,
the desert
escape,
the
sounds
of nothing
but
you.
This too,
reminds me
of
you.
My breath,
as it
is
escaping
my own
body,
ceases
to
exist,
lest
I
forget
to
think
of
you.
These memories,
forgotten
in
time,
shall warm
me,
&
still,
I can't
help
but
think
of
you.
The photograph
you
left me,
stays
with me
now,
still,
as it
did,
when we
were
brand
new.
I never lets
me
forget,
that I
will
always
think
of
you.
Your voice,
a steady
stream,
of
what once
was,
when I was
we.
The glossy
texture
of time
past,
will keep
me
here,
ever with
you.
The Beast Inside,
this is
the one
she always
knew.
Was it
wrong,
to tell a child
that was
who she
was,
that
it
had already
been
decided
by
fate.
She wonders
still.
Could
that
monster inside
be
something
she could
ever
be rid
of.
She still
didn't
know.
But,
it really
doesn't matter,
though,
does
it.
It's who
she
is.
Who she
will
always
be.
Ah,
but,
there it
is.
Fate,
destiny.
Cause,
effect.
Nature,
nurture.
Who she
really
is,
Who she
might
someday
be.
Oh,
don't be
fooled,
by
her...
need,
to be
more.
Or even,
the hope
that she will
be
less.
It's
still inside.
It waits,
for
the moments
it
needs
her again.
For
when she
calls
it home.
