He is the darkest memory
Buried inside, beneath all this skin
Causing a chemical imbalance
Gnawing at my every *****...
We dance when I sleep
Spinning circles around the ballroom in my head
A fantasy he uses to distract me
Gripping me, twisting me, until I am dead

Your opinion was not requested
Nor taken under advisement
But thanks anyways

Those teenage dreams

were deer in the night.

What once was plausible,

now an everyday fight.

The average became my impossible.

don't tell me about your first love-
tell me about your last.

tell me how he made you believe in love
when you thought your time had passed.

tell me how he made you feel
when you thought the butterflies were dead.

tell me how you tried silencing your heart
and all the crazy thoughts in your head.

tell me how he taught you
to love just a little bit again.

tell me how it was like taking your first step
how it was like to once more begin.

tell me how you thought your heart was dead
how you'd been hurt too many times before

tell me how you saw yourself falling for him
and constantly wanting more.

tell me how you thought you weren't worthy of love
tell me how all those thoughts vanished with one touch

a year, a decade, a century
how no time with him was too much

tell me how he excites you
how you're seeing colors you didn't know existed.

tell me how you finally gave in to giving love another chance
how you couldn't fight it, no matter hard you resisted.

tell me how you thought that love just wasn't for you
tell me how being with him makes you feel love is just for you.

tell me how the world seems just a little better
tell me how the grass is greener, the sky a little more blue.

tell me about your last love;
the one who really stayed.

how he's the missing piece of the puzzle
the one for whom you always prayed.

tell me about your last one
the one standing by your bed.

the one you hold on to a second too long
before you forever rested your head.

My fingers are rather cold

I gently poke a person,

and they jump.

I am so cold,

I make others jump.

My fingers are pretty cold.

and my nose is like the tip of ice.

So when he leans in to kiss me,

he backs up real quick.

And with worry and embarrassment,

he asks: "Are you sick?"

To which I reply,

"No I am not. I am frozen inside and out.

My inners are tied in a knot, and perhaps, maybe, I have gout.

But as far as i've been told, this is just the way I am.

And if it bugs you that much,

Than please pretend to not give a ****."

"Well,"

He bagan,

"It doesn't insult me at all- nothing of that such.

If it bothered me, I would scram;

but you're more than just finger tips,

and you're more than your nose.

Your kiss is like nectar,

every sip I take glows.

You are my hummingbird

and I, your rose."

Sometimes I write just to write

other times I can't sit still,

my body becomes shaky,

and against my very own will,

I write down my most personal thoughts,

and figures,

and illustrate my fears,

and suddenly it triggers

a waterfall of bottled up tears.