(written 12/12/13)

You're a hopeless romantic,
and I'm helplessly realistic.

I would do anything for you
and it breaks my heart over and over
because I know you would never do the same.

I'm not running away from you.
No, this time, I'm flying.

I've overheard the harsh remarks,
Glossed over the callous words,
And picked up on every acidic subtlety.


But silence is the greatest insult you could ever give me.

Your words, weighted with authentic affections,
used to send my heart ablaze.
Now they resonate as sweet old lies,
which wring my heart out to dry.

My love wasn't enough for you;
Like your faulty reciprocations,
the ink will melt then vanish into nothing.
Oh, how this smoke will send me into a new high!


We'll go out the same way we went in:
A crisp spark that ignites and engulfs ever so swiftly.

The city lights up like a crowded constellation,
but not one star shines brighter to guide me home to you.

And then there were the words I left unsaid:
My head still stuck on the stars,
the confessions dissolve into the atmosphere.

I feel too much lately,

so I've started self-medicating again;

It may be enough to curb those **** cravings.

I wore black and he wore blue;


We were really just a walking bruise.

She sets the pistol-like object down,
returns to the wound with a cotton swab,
and fixes a pretty little gem in place.

"$60," she says, and I wince;
not in reaction to the fresh wound,
or my lightened wallet.

But rather at the fact
that no pain can relate to
that of my ******, ruptured heart.