The urge to write. The urge to speak.
No urge to listen. No urge to feel.
A penchant to your doubts and I feel like I'm falling.
Deep into the hole of your sentiment and pity.
Take it back. I don't need your half-hearted excuses and the look of your unwavering irises beneath amber stains.
Take your grief. For I can't bear it with you no longer.
You're distant even in your sleep and I can't take it upon myself to bring you back.
You'll drift and drift until you find peace with your spirits and self-pity.
I won't wait for you to realize that once you encounter grief, it builds a home inside of you and it will never leave.
You see a silhouette that's slender, well-built and a towering figure.
You needn't look past its shadows to realize that it is your greatest sorrow.
An abundance of carnal regrets.