Cut it out, remove the dead tissue from the past. Leave it there on that bed you used to sleep on with her. Burn your fingertips clean of her touch, disappear from the way she remembers you. From the tabs she kept on you.
You've tried to sympathize now that you've done your time, but sympathy from a sinner doesn't mean a thing to an angel.
You've become something without a future or a past, but hated nonetheless. You've become a derelict, waiting for a storm to tear your old walls down.

Even through the midnight insomnia, drunken, drugged up death binges, I still remember your face. Don't think I'm lying, I still remember the taste of the salt in your tears. Soaking up your hopes and fears, what had I become.

Your death.
Your wake up call.
Your very last piece of failure.

Goodbye.

This feeling leaves me lost of my senses, like the sound of rain in a dream.
Loving her makes me feel like I'm lost in a world where everyone wants to be found. An infinitely expanding universe, that I will never fully explore but will never grow weary of.

And missing her is like death in a bottle, that I sip in miniscule doses prescripted by the second.

Smell of me in the back of your throat, gurgling and choking you up.
Picture blood rushing to the inside of your skull, baby. I'll give you an aneurysm faster than you can say," I'm d-."

I'll give you peace of mind.

Why can hate for someone grow when you no longer know who they are? Why can we be sad when we're also happy?
Why do we exist in a world where everything is supposedly coincidental?
Were your feelings of hate for me coincidence, when you confided in me, and I in you? Or was it always supposed to end the way that it did?

Why do I want you to forgive me, when it no longer matters?

I remember you saying,"You're a good person".

Now the words you last spoke to me ring in my ears.
I deserved it, but does that mean I don't deserve to be happy
now?
Now that we're stangers, I wonder,"Did you ever really know me enough? Did I ever know myself enough?"

An attempt to remind us what comes out when the sun goes down, but I know what the darkness brings.
It brings your smile. Nothing could have been as bright and magical in the dead of this summer night. Not even the willow lights.