unseen

sometimes I think of stories,
ones that I’ve never read before
but they play out like a film in my head
projecting onto white walls, all clean

and with cleanliness comes purity,
I’m reminded of the way everything became dirty
It was raining when you left,
I dropped my heart into a long, far a way, crack

It’s sorrow ran deep, like sharp knives
carving out meat
and with moments of tragedy
I’m brought back to reality

sometimes I think of songs
lyrics that I’ve known all along
but they sing out like a record on my heart
spinning quick, throwing shadows at the dark

and woven into every word that I write,
is a trace of you, and now of him
because I hang on to my losses like an addict
inhales the last drag of a cigarette

what is gone makes up who I am
and I’ve not once thought this positive
but if it weren’t for sorrow
I’d never have joy
and if it weren’t for solitude
I’d never know more

bitterness doesn’t taste good on an empty stomach
so I better not be bitter
sweetness doesn’t feel right without you
but I don’t like the sour

how many times can you fall to your knees
or cover your face on the highway
who would think more of happiness when it’s fleeting
and sadness defeating, long, lasting, whole

It’s only worth vitality if the hope you are reaching
is more than temporary
and I always find myself forgetting
that faith is greater than the constellations
so sadness, is tangible
and feeling hollow, is true
but for all these losses I’ve counted,
that I’ve held up as my identification,
I’ll lay them low right now

even if I grab them back up tomorrow,
I’ll rest in the unseen for as long as I can
because even when perception became all broken up
I always felt there was hope left

and now I think of october,
like dried up nectarines and growing colder
but I still love the color of the leaves
did you know, they too leave the trees?

If everything would stay the same,
I don’t think there would be beauty at all
we’d be tied up by our ribs
pressing in on our growing hearts
If everything was easy to hold
we’d let our fingers become a rotten mold
taking memories that were never meant to be ours
taking lives from youth, to old, to stars with out ever letting
an october, pass up its colors and its scars.