My mind fragments into a million pieces

A million interests and versions of myself

And I am left trying to catch them like butterflies in a net

Trying to cobble together any that I manage to catch 

 

And lately, I’ve been collapsing in on myself

Like that abandoned house on Donahue

Slowly being returned to nothingness. 

 

You wanted to love me but there was never 

Enough time. 

 

Isn’t it funny how we never know

What time will be the last time? 

Or the only time, even. 

 

I really wish that I could be creative 

Without needing to be separated 

Into tiny pieces first. 

Writing is the glue that holds me together 

And helps me fall back in… 

well, like with the world. 

 

Like, not love, 

Because all I know of love is pain 

And the world is too beautiful to be 

synonymous with love.