I hold hands with you for moments

but the grip is loose, I know it

and your other half visits me every night

drags me down

sits on my chest like a ton of bricks.
Feels like my breath is thick.

I see the smile curl up on it’s lips
and then I know I’m so sick.

I just want someone to talk to.
Have words seep out of our skin.
Because my real life conversation partners
Are dropping like flies
In the never ending decomposing meat pie
of life. 

and more and more I notice that each breath becomes a sigh,
a sigh to sew tapestries of my depressions dyed in my tears
because each night 
I hate myself because of my fears.

I just want to hold hands with happiness for more than a day
But I can’t,

Next to second-guess-jumping-to-conclusions-empathetic-dumb-ass love stories and just plain not liking the mirror,
I can’t seem to have any one see my laugh
as a parody for what happiness might be.