When will the world see
What you've done to me?
How you brought a smile to my bruised lips,
Formed reds on my cheeks instead of the blues of bruises?
Slipped endearing love into the lyrics I sing, banishing away the blues I bellowed?
When will the world finally realize
That you really are my everything?

I can't listen to your favorite songs

Or any for that matter

My mind finds a way to relate them to"our" happy never after

I find it cruel honestly

And I just wish I was free

From this heartbreak hold you have on me

We were walking through the field,
staring out at Boston.
I was choking on the whisper
of a memory of another here.

I gathered two wild flowers
and I showed them to you:
the familar
          Queen Anne's Lace has always been my favorite,
and the new
          I don't know what this one's called,
          but it's purple and pretty.
          They're both so lovely together.

I don't think you understood that
I was talking about us.

the fires of an august sun,
the leaves a dream  
of shadows.

One. Look at and not through her; lock your gaze unto hers. Swim in her core through her lenses, and set her soul on fire, then.

Two. Know and say her name. Run each letter through your lips. Savor each syllable that slithers through your knowing. Grab her hand and shake it, too.

Three. Ask for and call her number. Let each digit seep in through your memory. 0906. 7. 1. Text her, maybe, occasionally.

Four. Take her out for dinner. Maybe for lunch. Maybe for whatever. Solely just to know her better. Hold her hand. Lean in tight. Plaster your gaze each time you take a bite. Breathe. Let her breathe, and take her in your arms.

Five. Kiss her. Slowly, then softly. Devour her inner demons; taste the bile in her soul. Cover her in glitter - in candy canes, and not in anything bitter.

Six. Pull away, and let her start the chase. Call her once, then not again. Say it's love, and never again.

Seven. Let her wither away. Like an autumn leaf as winter springs. Let her soul be feeble glass; your apathy, it's undoing.

E. I. Eight. This is how you break her. this is how you **** each ounce of her; his is how she falters. Nine slits on her wrists. Ten failed attempts. Eleven in the evening. Twelve roses on her coffin. Thirteen guesses for the culprit. Fourteen times, all wrong. Fifteen was right, and XV was you.