i reach my hands out to the ceiling trying to grasp onto your body but you’re not there. it’s the middle of the night, i’m haunted by your shadow.

everywhere i turn, you are there, in my dreams, in my room, in the kitchen then when i look in the mirror, i’m looking into the face of a liar.

a liar because the face staring back is a mask used to deceive others, tell them she’s happy, this feels right, this feels secure. but she doesn’t want him, she wants her

her, the girl that sits across from her, her eyes directed towards her book, never looking in my direction, too scared to initiate, too scared to face the truth.

and i’m trying i try, i try, try i reach out, find any excuse to talk she avoids my words, my words so full of love ready to give her love that i’ll enclose into her hand, ready to extract on days filled with blue.

but right now she’s out of reach not even close enough to look at just a figment of my imagination, a character in my daydream, one i visit late at night when the truth haunts me and i can no longer run, when i’m stuck in my own thoughts and my own desire, my own stupid heart, and when she’s so far out of reach.

i lay in your arms like all the other times before but this time is different this time i’m letting go

and i cry while you cry our tears melt into one i’d love to just stay here but i know that it wouldn’t do me well

and as i utter those four words “can we stay friends?” i look in your eyes and see them glass glass im willing to break

i await your answer no turning back time has never passed so slowly as i’m waiting for this hurt to pass

i stare at the table and your pen is sitting there

too far away for me to touch but too close for me to forget

yet i have no desire to touch it nor any desire to neglect

because as long as they’re your words and your pen it will forever make a mark

it’ll mark my hand my pen and my wrist

and my writing reflects your eyes your heart and your soul

you are so beautiful, i think as i stare at your pen

from the letters you write to the prose you scribble

and it crosses my mind that i want the words you write, to be about me, like mine are about you

but i know you would not for you are not in love with me, as i am you

and you’re words don’t have a secret meaning; displaying myself in their essence as mine do to you

and so i’m writing this here, now, for you are beautiful therefore everything you touch is too

this storm is in me the cracks of lightning are the scraping of skin as hatred strikes the hatred gushes out of me and into others like a downpour the pounds of thunder are the pounding of my head as i feel myself spiralling deeper than ever before this storm is in me i’m laying facing the window watching glimpses of lightning, taking down tree after tree after tree in its anger soldiers falling and i’m just watching disaster strike like i’m floating outside my body watching the destruction i’m creating in my anger each punch more destructive than the last, pounding into the earth this storm is in me. my body is filled with desire, desire for love and desire for peace and if wishes fell like rain, then certainly I am a storm.