Longing

Who am I?
I wouldn't know how to answer if I were asked.
What makes me me is all the pieces of everyone else.
Everyone I know and love, they make me who I am.
That's why this is so very difficult.
I'm away from you all.
Out of mind and out of sight.
Our lives are no longer intertwined..
And yet...
And yet you're still here.
You're still in this place called me.
I feel a yearning to go back because I've left most of me at home.
You, you, and you
You're all back where I belong.
My heart is with you,
My heart is you,
And it's unbearable to be without my heart.
The emptiness inside my chest does not subside.
I fill the hole moment by moment,
Taking pleasure in the newness I behold every day,
And yet it's not enough.
The relief is only temporary.
Nothing substantial enough to make me whole again.
I hear your calling but the connection is weak.
Oh how I wish to go back and see every face again.
Faces that are reflections of my own.
Faces that show my inner joy, grief, anxiety.
Faces that are me.

Who I Am

The suicidal silence is so alluring
pulling me from reality
tossing me into the deepness of my dreams
dark and deadly
but free from any confinement.

It's something so familiar
and I don't even realize it
as I'm lulled into familiar territory
and transformed into something which is terrifyingly beautiful.

I love this me,
the one with the tragic backdrop
of depression and all-consuming sadness
that's riddled with crimson blood
which stains all sharp metallic surfaces.

Through all the loneliness
and every wave of defeat and emptiness
it has been the constant on which I depend.

This is the me
and the only me I know
and I'm in love with it.

The dirtiness, the secrecy, and the creativity it has brought me.

I can never be saved from myself
only because I don't want to be
only because
well
because it is me.