You were the type to look at the stars and think they're so beautiful but then feel a vicious envy towards them because you're down here - with me - and they're up there staring down.

The type to feel things so deeply - except me - that every thought you had was poetry that paper could not handle.

The type to love invincibly - not me - that made love seem mythical.

The type to say I love her - not you - .

Come and wipe the soot off my body (because your touch burnt me), erase my memory (because your words scarred me), take your lips and kiss my body (so you can taste the places your fingertips imprinted on me), get the scissors and cut off my long black hair (so that I can forget how your hands felt in my hair) and sober my soul, (for I am still intoxicated on you).

But don't stop my heart from beating or else you'd be homeless.

You're under my skin like Braille and whoever touches me, reads our story.

But instead of bliss they burn.