I am too young
To tell you how to be
If i do, older
Don't listen to me

When i write words
That may be a suggestion
Know that my mind is still up late
Asking questions

These are answers i say for me
These are my perspectives
And what i see
I don't want to tell you who to be

Someone pulled the trigger
On the slow motion gun
I feel the motion of the mechanisms
I appreciate their beauty
Just long enough
Until the gunpowder erupts

Forced down the barrel
Twisting in intense heat
I see the world spin
As into it im released

if I can't miss you, the least I can do is miss the way it felt to know that you were mine (even if you weren't, not really). I remember watching you fall apart, a familiar road of self destruction that you drove me down too many times to count. you were so devoid of life that I couldn't ever figure out what you felt was worth it. if you felt anything was worth it.

sometimes, when your fist would find a home tangled in my hair, with my body pressed against the mirror, our breaths fogging up the glass, I'd forget that your fragile heart felt no purpose.

it was so easy to lose myself in our clashing tongues and teeth because the distraction was easier than the realization. it was the bruises on my hips that told me how you felt. you told me that you loved me through your fingertips. through tight grips and shaky hands.

I lost my shirt in the backseat of your car one night because you couldn't wait to sneak into your brothers house. sometimes you would touch me like I was a porcelain doll but most nights it was a fast blur of disaster. like a look inside of your mind.

“we're okay, it's okay, we're okay, I'm okay,” I never really knew whether you breathed out those words for me or for yourself. something about false reassurance.

I once found a song you wrote on the back of a sloppy page of notes titled Why Does My Heart Feel For Her and Only Her?

it was the following night that I stopped feeling my heart when I found bold messy lines through the lyrics. with my lip between your teeth I could only think of what you wrote beside the crossed out title.

THERE IS NO HEART AT ALL
(in neither of us)

It's tough sometimes
To look in the mirror

It's even more tough, to know
This world,
It's just one great mirror

Why do i still care is probably too simple a question
it implies an easy answer like “her eyes” or “her smile”
but it isn’t that
it’s not love at least not yet i’m too young
so it isn’’t that
think think think
there’s been other girls
four in fact
but what did they not have?
what were they missing
what made them Roseline and not Juliet
does “it” exist? it’s possible i guess
maybe nothing tangible could account for what i’m feeling
i doubt it but it’s a possibility
So what is it?
Seriously(tension builds)
Maybe it’s because you still care
sure I only know because of the grapevine
but i’ll just assume it still counts


I refuse to believe im the Pip to your Estella
I’d like to believe I have too much pride for that
Pride pride pride
maybe that’s the answer
I messed you up pretty good the first time
but then again you did win round 2
so maybe it’s just a game
a game my mind is just set on finishing


Maybe you’re just evil
crazy i know
really crazy
lunatic crazy
but still is it that crazy a thought?
you say you love me when you don’t
you say you don’t love me when you do
you say you miss us
but somehow “I” am not included


Maybe I have simply ruined you for myself
I’ve built you up in my head
to be something you simply can not live up to
It’s hard to explain but to me at least in my mind
you are a different type of “perfect”
Flawed in all the right ways
proficient where it really matters
In my head you don’t make mistakes
In my head you choose me first so you don’t regret it later
In my head you act rationally
In my head I create fake things


So to answer my question I must decide on an answer
and i choose all of them
because that’s life
that’s what it is
you’ll meet a girl who you feel is perfect for you in every way
except for the fact that she isn’t
and it won’t make sense
and it will drive you crazy
and you’ll write some stupid poem at a late hour trying to find an answer to your question
until you realize it doesn’t matter
because you’re young and she’s young
because there are mistakes to be made
nights to be forgotten
people to meet
places to see
and all the while there is time to sit down
to really ponder and finally come to the conclusion
that You
yes You
are not the one I end up with

shes gone
gone again
i feel
that our feelings
had their feet first
out the door

I was born with wounds in my head
they tell me I’ll be better and they give me pills
but oh, nothing takes you out of
me for you are stitched into my soul
like disease.
Sometimes I want to hide in my
mother’s womb and build
a fortress of all the tears we’ve cried
you and I
so there's a bed
and there’s our bodies intertwined
like homes that swallow the skies
and dance under the pouring rain
and during hurricanes
there’s a body and there’s another
there’s a pill and there’s the other
and there’s my dry mouth begging for
a drizzle, from your soul, boy.

**** medications.