Poetry Under the Influence

feel empty.

she's got

brushing her spine

tickling her ribs.

soft fingers pressed to the skin

but cold.

and maybe he doesn’t feel so worthless.

maybe he could do this for her,

anything for her.

and he’s never felt more important

than he does when her fingers trace his face.

or more loved 

than when her lips meet his skin.

she makes him believe 

in the good inside him.

she doesn’t know that it’s her.

she’s all the good there is.

he knows he’ll never deserve this

no matter how many times she assures him he does.

he could never deserve this woman,

this happiness.

but when she holds him and smiles

and it doesn’t seem real

he wishes he did.

i haven't said it out loud yet,

not even to myself.

i think the first time i do

you should be around to hear it.

our stories are stained in wars

but you bring a softness to my past

and i'll whisper your demons away

and maybe, in the end, well survive this

than the destruction you've caused

than the gun at your side

than the blood on your hands.

there's more to you

than the battles you've won

than the people you've lost

than the nightmares you face.

darling, there's so much more to you.

why won't you show me?