i've tried making poetry
spinning silk from cobwebs
sitting in the corners of my mind
trying to sew them
into sweaters that smell like you
so i could sleep at night
ever since i met you
i've been swallowing ball point pens
so i could spit out poems
everytime you cut me open.
there's ink in my veins
and i can't get them out
i can't quit this now, it's too late,
i've become addicted to your mouth
i painted my cheeks red;
you painted it black and blue
you turned me into art right?
i don't understand
why they kept telling me to leave you.
you tell me you don't love me,
and i keep saying i don't care.
i've felt it in your kisses
there's never been a spark in the air
you ask me why
and i tell you:
you're my favorite kind of pain.
not to be cliche, but i'd like to die
whispering your name.
my friends say i'm a fool,
"if it's an addiction, then quit"
but honesty is the best poetry,
and i'm getting pretty good at it.