{are you, do you}Mature

you still permeate my thoughts. you and what you make me feel are illegal in my heart, now, but now those thoughts collide against barriers and refuse to be fleeting.
you are the immigrant of my being.

Are you happy?

What kind of question is that?
I am a complicated mess
of boiling blood
and sea salt tears
and tears in the fabric of time
because a crowded mind isn’t what keeps
me awake at night;


its you, its him,
its these words bubbling up and over at the muse’s whim
its you.
its him.
its the way you both make me feel like I belong.
Its not an easy
feeling
being
loving and caring
existing simply because someone else needs you to;

Do you need me,too?

Are you happy,love?
Are you happy yet?
Am I the reason you wake 
up from dreaming,
dripping in sweat?
Am I what you dream of,
what you breathe,
what you need?
Am I still in your heart,
still running miles in your mind?

I know its not right,
but I want to be;
I know its not okay anymore
to want these things,
but I still crave to be the person
that makes you happy.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

(Do you still love me?)

The End

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