I should've known better-
Answering those texts really just meant
I was answering a call to getting my heart broken all over again.

I shouldn't be so insecure or meek-
Yet here I am crying in the garage with your stupid sweatshirt,
All because I know I feel galaxies for you and maybe I'm just one star in your sky.

I shouldn't feed into whatever we have going-
It's going to eat me alive and no exaggeration,
I feel like you'll swallow my heart whole.

I shouldn't have let you into my bloodstream,
I shouldn't have let you sleep in my bed,
I shouldn't have kissed you so hard.

I shouldn't give you the upper hand,
I shouldn't want to be in your arms,
I shouldn't let you into my head.

I shouldn't write this poem when it boils down to it-
It solidifies that you have something over me,
And it makes me feel miserably powerless.

You should know better-
Someday you get to walk away with a novel about yourself
Because writers only write about people they care about.

I always knew
I would be left with ink-stained hands
And a heart stained by loving you.

You should know
That loving you
Is something I should forget how to do.

I tried to be stone so I would be invincible to anything that came my way.

I wouldn't sway with the wind like tree branches do, or uproot completely when gale force winds blow through.

I wouldn't burn at the touch or fire and crumble into charred black dust.

I wouldn't freeze over in the snow, even if it covered me whole.

Mother Nature has nothing on your hands though;

You came at me with a chisel and hammer and decided to carve into my granite veins again and call me your personal masterpiece.

You carved yourself a niche in my stature and made me into someone dented by your meticulous hands.

You cut jagged edges and smoothed them round, ******* at every detail and feeling for bumps to smooth away.

I made myself stone so you couldn't get into me, not even if you tried.

Yet here we are with my carved heart and your worn chisel and hammer by your side.

You hit a little too hard this time and the cracks have already formed;

I can feel the wind blow through me and the snow settle into the cracks just waiting for the fire to melt it.

Someday you'll put the chisel and hammer down because working at stone like me is tiresome.

That, and by the end of all this I'll be broken stone around your feet.

Artists finish their pieces, and you finished me by hitting too hard and cracking me completely.

You leave me wanting to dance and cry and write endless stanzas about your arms and lose sleep because you're keeping me awake with your words and warm lips. You leave me hopeless but I feel itty bits of hope regardless because your eyes remind me that there is more than meets the eye; they're blue like me when you're gone but so forgiving when I come back. I want to tear you apart and inject you into my own open veins. I want to walk away yet I walk in a circle right back to you. You're going to build me up so I can fall so hard later on but the free fall might just be worth it. The rush of the fall makes my blood boil the same way your hands in my hair does. The rush of air from falling cools the back of my neck where the hairs stand up whenever you draw circles on my skin with your fingertips. Don't let me fight a battle worth letting rest instead. Don't let me fight for you if you know you'll end up putting your knife through my heart in ways that can't be fixed with needles and thread. You leave me wanting you and I can't have you leaving me until you have to. Don't let me fight for you unless you'll fight with me. Please don't fight how you feel, be vulnerable like me and fall again. We'll leave bruised and aching but the free fall feels like the breeze in summer and water rushing over your warm body. I'll wash over you while I'm here and cleanse your eyes when I leave. It feels like euphoria when you kiss me. Don't let me fight alone.

I don't get angry when the sunset eases into nightfall,
Or when my dreams end because my eyelids have opened.

I don't feel utter sadness when these beautiful things suddenly stop-
I know these moments are ephemeral and they will all come to an end.

Despite knowing that,
I don't curse the course of life.

Instead I embrace it-
I take these fleeting, beautiful moments for what they are worth.

I should stop being so angry that we ended,
And be thankful for what was instead.

You may have been the sun setting in my sky,
You may have been in my dreams,

But your absence allowed for my stars to shine brighter
And guide me somewhere where dreams were not just for sleep.

I made your slip up seem like a complete down fall, and I am sorry.
I spit words from the bottom of my heart where the anger sinks and the hurt resides, and I am sorry.
I hurt you when you were already hurting, and I am sorry.

Scientifically, we are made up of a combination of atoms that somehow resulted in spinning minds and thirsty hearts, soft skin and aching bones.

I heard somewhere that if the atoms of an object could spread far enough apart, we could pass through anything.

If we are merely atoms, I suppose I spread mine so far that you passed through me.

You came through me, you hit my bloodstream and God was it a rush.

My atoms reacted with yours and it felt like they started to merge into one.

I felt you become a part of my spinning mind, my thirsty heart, my soft skin and my aching bones.

I spread myself so far so that you could really see who I was and before I knew it you had passed through me.

My atoms are tinged with specks of yours and I can't get you out of what makes up who I am.

This is why I miss you with all that I have.

I told myself I would write you out of me like ******* venom out of a vein-

With every letter upon the page it felt like I was pulling bits of you out of my bloodstream.

But then I wake up to streaked walls and I realized you're smeared everywhere-

You're a spilled ink bottle upon pages and pages of my life and you're bleeding into the rest of my book.

You're splattered across my walls and waking up to the stains within my room leaves me stained too-

I walk around seeing you in so much that I do.

My eyes are stained with the tint of your affection and I find it glimmering in every thing I see.

The splatters are still wet upon my walls, the ink hasn't dried upon my pages.

Everything I feel for you hasn't died yet.

How foolish was I to think that spilling my heart and ink about you would somehow get you to leave.

You're dripping from my eyes, from my pen and my veins.

I hoped this would get you out of me,

But every drip hits the ground and splatters out to the walls.

I haven't seen you in so long,

But I still see you stained upon my walls into what is a masterpiece of attempting to rid myself of you.

You're still in my ink, you're still in my veins.

You're now everywhere else too.

When can I escape you?