Black Earrings

Hoarding books and scraps of paper

at this rate I'll be buried in a year.

The drone, through the walls, of my brother playing guitar, brings me comfort
and the yellow light of the fall scented candles brings me warmth

i keep thinking about a person in so many different ways
that i become disillusion,
drunk on the thought of their company
and memories we now own.

the books and magazines, maps and clippings
can never truely portray how i feel at any moment
no matter how many ways i position them into a single thought

and i can barely remember
what i felt 5 minutes ago.
but i know
right now,
i miss you dearly.

i feel as if everything i say to you is a lie until i tell you how i feel.

i think i've found the feeling that everyone's dying to know.

i'm letting it rip me up inside,
believing that it means keeping you
from heart breaks and confusion