I can’t read you

and it bothers me.

You can tell what almost anyone is feeling if you just pay attention.

But I can’t read you.

Maybe its because I care too much.

My mind trying to shield my heart from the truth.

I can’t read you.

There is something intoxicating about it.

Don’t get caught up in imperfections

The world is imperfect

Love isn’t shown by someone making you feel happy all the time.

It is shown by every little decision you make.

Love is a choice.

Whatever anyone else might say.

Whatever reason behind it.

Love is a choice.

If you can remove all of the sanity from a person, drive them with fear to the point of madness, people will cease to see them as credible. Their hysteria induced rambling will hold no weight. And when they finally do take their lives, it will be sad but not unsurprising. Certainly no cause for an investigation.

If I were to drown it would be cold and distant.

As waves smashed my soul and broke my walls in an instant.

The burning would not be from water in my lungs.

But from the lack of the air as if I were being hung.

If I were to drown I would put up a fight.

I would pump my limbs with all of my might.

Straining to reach the light up above.

But farther it got with every single shove.

And if I were to drown it would be slow and silent.

No one would ask or know where my mind went

Because water cannot rip the air out of me.

Like the thoughts in my head when I try to sleep.