please forgive me if my words start to fall apart

i’ve been repeating them to myself for hours

but in your presence my heart seems to speak for me

and it is broken so it has no words

so forgive me if my voice cracks,

if it breaks

i’m sorry because it’s my heart speaking for me

so please forgive me if my sentences aren’t strung together beautifully

it’s because there is nothing beautiful about this

i need to let go

so that one day

one day my words will be perfect

my sentences flowing utterly flawlessly

and there will be no crack,

no pause

and no break in this voice of mine

because one day my heart will be speaking for me

healed and strong

so forgive me but i’ll hold my words until that day

When the girl, I loved, died,
I locked myself in her room
while her parents were in Arizona.

I went through her things
and found
**** photos;
A few where she seemed
ashamed
and a few where she
liked her body.
She had a gummy smile
and in others
she looked down at her *******
while having a blank expression.

I found empty
alcohol bottles.
Cheap bottles of wine
and a bottle of red,
stuffed with tissue paper.

Under her dresser
I found an unopened
letter she intended to
give the boyfriend before me,
where she admitted
to being ***** as a teenager
and how she hoped
it wasn't too much
baggage.

I threw out the photos
and
alcohol bottles,
but not the letter.

I don't know why but I kept it.
I occasionally read it,
because it's her,
and I love her.

I told my friend
and he called me a
Halomaker,
because I made sure
she was remembered
as an angel.

Your touch is like the feeling you get when you finally lay down after a long day.
When you kiss me I feel like you light the life on my lips, and I
feel the taste of you rush into my chest like a new type of smoke.

I unwind while in your presence and peel my worries off as if I'm already inside the privacy of the house I will one day own.
Because, my dear...
No matter what,
At the end of the day I want to see
You.
Because when I am with you, I am

Home.

She likes fashion and interviews. I like getting lost.
Sometimes she grabs my bulge,
as she drinks from an aluminum flask.
She told me to rhyme something with 'flask'.
I said, "Fine. In your life, you've been wearing a mask.
But I can see. And you can see. They can't see.
That you are a detached, blond doll
and your back is against the wall,
as I kiss your neck until you're dead."
She said to rhyme something with 'dead'.
I said, "Fine. You ******* in my head.
And it's quarrelsome
that they don't see that you're numb.
I'd pull on your lip, with my teeth.
Dig my hand between your legs.
Just to make you feel. Just to make you feel.
And I study your hairbrush
to see that there are too much
strands of memories from melodies
that lay dormant in ballrooms
and scented kisses
that drip of the misses
in your life and mine."
She said **** me with your words.
I refused because I'd rather watch her bloom
in my dreams than the seams of
a fiber noose that rings loose
the bell in your neck
that sounds until birds fly
and we die-
You look at me,
"Home."