not my pages.

tell me, where along the way did we get so comfortable with being uncomfortable.

when did we accept the unacceptable?

i don’t know.

it’s easier to bounce my thoughts off the walls than over your head.

& there i go again…. adding insult to injury.

it pains me ….. to use the pen that way… but it’s the only way i know to these days.

a lot of pain lives amongst these pages.

all the pain that lives amongst these pages…..

that’s why i don’t find myself amongst the pages.

no….. you won’t find me in these pages, anymore

the pleasures in pain.

i sip in and it spills out.  

call me out on my dishonesty if i tell you that i’m happy with the bed i’ve made.

call me out if i tell you that i haven’t been in bed with the enemy.. 

because i’ve lied a thousand times.  

what difference does it make if i tell a lie when you know the truth?  

why does my heart have to be broken for you to want to listen to me?

why do i have to hurt for you to want to  

read me?

why? why do i find pleasure in the pain ?  

maybe because that’s the only place i feel your love.  

thats the only fucking place i’ve felt your love.  

Stories, I don’t tell.

where have you been;

or how have you been,

maybe that’s a better place to start?

people ask me about you.... they expect for me to talk about your failures. 

instead i tell them of your success, 

that’s a better story to tell... if i have to tell it.   

cause hate never tore us apart, 

we both had too much love to give.... even if it didn’t keep us together.  

we both had too much life to live.... we just couldn’t share it together.  

my hands are tainted, i realize as i flip through the pages. i’d never point a finger at you.