I grew tired of waiting to hear from you
So I read your poetry
The book you gave me
So I could hear your voice echoing in my mind

I grew sick to my stomach as I read
Pages remain untouched
I think I'm beginning to understand
That which you would never explain

You asked us both
"What am I"
And while I wrote you pages poured from my soul
She wrote                                                I wrote
                 "you're not human                           "you're human"
                  you're emotion"      

You told me that I always have the right thing to say
                       that I always say the things you need to hear
                                                      the things no one else will tell you
You never wanted that.

A flat line leads to you 2000 miles west
                  leads to the girl you love
A flat line leads my emotions to fail
                  leading me back to how it felt to be with you

You called yourself
            a wilting rose
But rose was mine

            It would forever reside
                      In the center
             of my name, my heart
                           of me.

But Wilt belonged to you
            And your storm came
Creating an end
                             my end

              The wilting of a rose
        Leaving nothing but thorns
          Trying to scare you away

Yet any word you speak
          Causes my rose to bloom
Only to be wilted again

My words will not coerce you to come running home
Nor will they inspire you to tell me of your love
I only hope as the nights pass that I cross your mind
Once, twice, a million times you've crossed mine

the last time i saw you

He looks at me
               but not the way you do.
                         His eyes don't scream of the                                       distance.
                His lips don't curl towards
flushed cheeks at the sight of me


He does not love me
                                     though he says he does.
I do not love him
                                but he is here
                                                         and you are not.
I am not his
                     he is not mine.


The salt on his upper lip is bitter when we kiss.
                     his hands do not graze my skin the way yours do.
At his touch I pretend as if it is you.
                      I pretend his green eyes are the hazy honey of yours.


I follow your lips with my eyes
                                                       fingers tracing the shape of his.
I like to pretend that he is you.
But he is not and will never be.