i'm scared of what's behind and what's before

i've been at this desk for what feels like an eternity.
my wrist is sore and my finger tips are nearly
raw to the bone; and still there is much to the story.
i have now been trying hard to find a different remedy;
because the cure's i use now to hold these blues at bay
have become worse than the disease itself, so they say.

i know from outsiders attempting to understand me
by over analyzing these poems as if somehow
my real self is revealed within these pieces of paper.

if i could i'd take back all the things i've done
in order to erase from my head all of the pain
she gave to me; because i knew that when i had done
the task, she'd come back around, she'd return.
my eyes watch her as she speaks of places we'd been,
and i see her eyes sparkle when she's getting
ready to laugh; and i am just simply mesmerized, again.

i find that she carry's grace in her words
and tenderness in her actions; i've never found
a reason to be pure, but it's deep down
inside of her that i am hoping love can
still grow. i know i am unable, not one thing
flourish or survive in the desert my heart's been
becoming since i discovered the hole in
my philosophy's thesis' and plot outline.
It was never them, it has always been
me this whole time; and since i was young,
all this time i thought it was something
wrong with everybody else i have seen.

now love holds no weight on me
but neither does being happy.
i found i can put back together
my soul; but it will take a while
because the parts are no where
to be found, i'm thinking maybe
i scattered them across the sea.