Contelysia

I never meant for August to be so. Four days that took me by surprise, Four weeks of hidden despise, Thirty-one days I spent in delirium. Whatever did I do...to deserve this? Regret and lost respect and cruel fate. August wasn't supposed to be so. Begged, cried, and fought tooth and nail, For something that never could've stayed, For something that never left my mind, For something that was never mine. Nothing's mine anymore, August has taken me from myself. August has left me on the floor, Gathering the pieces of me that I broke. How long until I glue those pieces back together? How long 'til August finally turns to September?

I'm - I tried to fight it. I tried -- I tried -- I I called out to you, didn't I? I emptied my lungs as I shouted your name into the void -- didn't you hear me? Screaming for you? Of course, into a void that ended up nowhere. A void of my own mind, cruelly trapping me into its own cage. Useless. It was useless asking for help when I wouldn't accept any. So now, I just stand here. Looking outside the window of the house I've built for myself. And you look at me. Careful, I can tell you stories that may never escape your mind.  But still, you listen. Carefully. Attentively.  I'm -  I choke on my own words. What do I tell you? To treat me right? To call my name with love? To remember the look in my eyes when I ran to embrace you?  You stand outside my door. I wait for you to knock. The littlest sigh doesn't leave your mouth. How do I know if you want me to open it? What if you stand to see if I'm desperate enough to beg you on my knees to come inside? To li...

The smoke diffuses in the clear air, the ground damp from yesterday’s rain. Some faces have decipherable expressions — joy, sorrow, despair, cruelty, kindness. Some faces are like mine — with an unclarity so evident that it scares the bravest souls. I can’t even look at the pavement the same now. It’s scary how often I imagine the bouquet scattered on the damp cement, the wilted roses just a reminder of how broken I can be. The pink parchment not holding them together anymore as they get trampled on, their story a lost symbol of their lost fragrance.  Was I that bouquet to those I loved once? Held to their chests when I’m significant, yet thrown to the ground when I don’t make sense anymore? My soul lays scattered in a thousand shards now. You can’t gather me without scarring yourself. You can’t fix me without being broken yourself.  I don’t want to break you; not when you dare to glue me back together. Careful as you walk over my pieces, they are sharp enough to cut you...

I'll be fine one day. Maybe won't see the colors as bright, Not be as shiny as a stroke of light. The yellows and oranges and pinks won't appear, And, oh, the sunflower we held so dear. What do I do , I ask you. What do I do as it gets tougher and tougher to cry, My joy, my thoughts all gone awry, My cruelty all spent on me. What do I do of my ears that search for your laughter? Not gone today, tomorrow, or the day after? What do I do of the days I'll spend crawling back? I don't hear the silence, I just sit in it. All I hear is your voice in your words, Coax myself to shield, 'cause it still hurts. It still hurts, but I don't show it. Neither do you, even if it ever hurt you. Does your heart ache like mine does? Do you plan out your days so you won't spend a moment thinking of me? ...but still do? Do you think of me like I do? I'll be fine one day, I tell myself everyday. Perhaps see the colors of what they are. Perhaps trust those that seem real. N...

Cover my heart with scratches and wounds, Let it bleed as it beats slowly. With bleeding cuts across my chest, tattooed streaks on my cheeks, I walk down the emptiest road, Tears glistening as the streetlights flicker to death. I stare at the moon tirelessly, Wondering if it's still the symbol I so desperately wanted it to be. My vision blurs as the white shines down the street, My hands freeze as they numb in the cold air, My legs shake from the long way I've come, My breaths get shallower and shallower. I don't know how long I can hold out now. The street is too empty, the path is too dark. It is too cold. What's the point of suffering when the suffering leads nowhere? What's the point of breaking the fall when my knees bleed anyway? I drop down. Tired— Wasted away like the burning flower that never reached full bloom. My chest still bleeds as my arms wrap around me, My blood stains my whole being until I'm nothing but a crimson shadow. A shadow that refuses t...

What do I have to go on? Is it the thousands of words of love that echo in every corner of my heart when I remember you? Or is it how those echoes don't pierce and shatter each muscle? Is it the shadow of your touch across my skin? Or is it the way I feel nothing of it? Where do I go now? If not your arms when I'm frightened of the dark, Do I seek mine in this dread? If I don't run to you... To whom do I run? What do I feel? Do I miss you, hate you, love you, call for you all at the same time? Yes. Every fibre of my being wrestles to hold onto you, While my heart — already beaten down in love — lets you go like just another yesterday. How could you be just another yesterday? Three-hundred and fifty nine days that I would never cry for? How could the remembrance of you not rip me apart? How does seeing your face be just another event of my day? Am I content with you losing me? Will I be okay with losing you? I laugh at my insincerity. Of course , if you ask me to— I'll c...