I can love you for an hour
or a day
or a week
I can love you for a
while, but I'll still most likely
leave.
Once the water doesn't
Boil
and the spice doesn't
burn my tongue.
Then i'll make you
hate me,
because that's way more
Fun.

A broken lover is still good enough to

Use.

To use.
Not to love.


A lying lover is so easy to cling to
because lies sound so

Sweet.

And unforgivably cruel.

A grieving lover is so hard to
help.

How do you,
Help.

Explaining the inevitability of death
and the not-likely probability of going to
a "better place".

I've written entire novels about you, a soliloquy of my heart.
My logic did not approve, so I have fashioned a new art.
White ink on white paper- for you cannot hate what you cannot see.
It seems my heart has fooled my brain with words it cannot read.

my showers are getting colder,
my ribs have all been broke,
and this hell I call a home is going down in smoke.
my breaths are getting sharper and they each puncture my lungs,
I've now seen the evil that lives in everyone.
a killer with charm, brutality,
and a sickening grin.
a broken thing that lies very, very, deep within.
a rotting grudge underneath us that our smiles cannot hide.
a partially hidden pitfall
beyond our vanity and pride.

It happened again.

I saw your face on everyone around me,
I stumbled through crowds.

People stared, but I stared back because all I could see was you.
I miss you.

Maybe only when i'm messed up, but it counts.

I got to our place.

And it felt like I couldn't breath,
I screamed and screamed.
If there was anyone around to hear they’d probably,

Call the police...
Hah.
Thats a funny thought.

It felt like I didn’t have enough space,
I put my arms out and I was touching the ends of the world.

I felt your body there.
I ran my hands through the grass
Like I was tracing the outline of your body.

In my mind I kissed you and it was almost like
You were really there.
Whispering sickeningly sweet things.

Sweet things dripping into my open wounds
Filling and suffocating my lungs...