Every Time

I die on the inside every time I decide to leave someone behind.
Or when I lay to rest the plans we never had,
Or the memories we never made
In a future that we will never see
Together.

Together was all we had,
And I find myself here at the end
Of it all, struggling to stand tall
And raise my head high.
Because every goodbye kills me,
And I die every day, afraid
Of the next one to go away.

I’m so fine with it, sometimes,
Somehow, but then there are times
When I’m drowning in the deep depths
Of despair, where the air
Escapes my lungs
And leaves me behind.

Painful Peace

I wonder if you’ll listen
When I rip out my hair.
Or if I jump off a chair
In a peculiar fit of despair –
Or a fit of frustration
(A most horrible sensation),
That would normally be repressed,
And left unsaid in the depths
Of the River Lethe,
Where no one could see me
Drowning in the misery.

Should I then keep it a mystery?
Or should I break our reality
Into pieces, so that we’ll find ourselves
In the painful peace of the present.
But, oh, it’s been my role for an eternity:
The “keeper of peace” –
Why should it be me?
Why should I not feel angry?
Should I not learn from my history?
Even if I can’t see what is ahead of me?

I never asked for my past.
But if I do not learn from my history,
This life will be the death of me.

What’s Inside

There is an empty chair over there.
It resides by your side.
It is where I used to be
Before I set me free.
Or at least,
I thought I did.
But now, still, I bleed
Red blood
Flowing from scars
That open
The past and I look inside
The chambers of my heart.
There, my eyes can clearly see
The path I lead
And the content emptiness
Inside of me.

This was my 150th post on this blog. I am still so glad that I started this blog, and started sharing my love for poetry over three years ago now. One day I will hopefully publish a collection of my poetry, but for now I am focused on further developing myself and continuing to write more poetry. Thank you for everything.