"I think you're going to leave me."
You said it so sincerely
It took my breath away.
Your eyes were focused on the road,
You didn't even look at me when you said it.
That's how I knew you really meant it.
Why would you say that?
I asked you.
Twisting my hair around my fingers,
Cheeks blushing with offense.
"Because you're not used to this"
You waived your hands over your body,
"You're not used to normality,
You don't know what to do with someone
Who actually loves you."
That's not true.
When I said it you smiled,
Sympathetically,
Putting your hand on top of mine
For only a moment.
"You're a beautiful person"
You said,
"I hope you can remember that
When I'm not here to remind you."

Half drunk and fully ruined
I decided I was going to destroy myself
That summer.
Sometimes its poetic not to survive,
Not everything can be made to be beautiful.
I should've known that before I really did.

"I hardly remember what happened"
I insisted as tears dropped into my shot glass
And flooded the table.
I licked it up of course,
I couldn't afford to loose something
I desperately believed could save me.

What I mean't by saying I hardly remembered
Was that I'd only thought about it every day since.
His eyes closed against his tattooed face.
My shorts and underwear
Lying on the floor.
When I stood up and that blood
Dribbled down my legs.

Everyone laughed when I took a ninth shot.
"You're crazy"
They said,
But I wasn't.

Drunk and somewhat sentimental I called you
On the corner of that street
Where nothing good ever seemed to happen.
Sitting on the asphalt and pulling at the laces
Of my shoes until everything unintentionally unraveled.
I heard you sigh when you picked up.
So loud and full of disappointment
It made my head ache.
"Why did you call me?"
You asked
Almost painfully.
And I cried into my bleeding hands,
"Because nothing is beautiful without you"
I sobbed,
"I don't know how to be beautiful without you."

"It's not beautiful to be tragic"
He tells me idly as he watches himself in the rearview mirror.
"It doesn't make you special."
I almost spit out my strawberry milkshake when he says this.
He painted me this way.
All heavy eyes and shaky hands.
The tires squeal under the weight of silence
And he rolls his eyes to fill the space.
"You did this"
I tell him,
"You made me miserable."
He laughs,
But his voice breaks before he can finish.
"Look at me"
I sob,
"Look at the mess you made of me."