Why do I cry four times a week convinced this is the end? Breaking my own back to be perfect for you. The more I do, the less you respond. The more I do, the uglier I get. Why do I panic and obsess over silences? I count every unsaid 'I love you" and carve them into bone. Make sure I don't forget. Misery loves company, and I constantly crave yours. My body feels old when my soul is supposed to keep young. My heart hollowed out when our love is supposed to fill it up. Why do I fight so much when I am not sure this is worth it for either of us?
I fear you'll leave without a kiss. That I won't recognize goodbye until I realize there never will be another follow up hello to balance it out.
You loved me so wrong it felt right. When you didn't say goodbye and ran off to catch the last bus because I am nothing if not wasted time. When you kissed your sister on the cheek but wouldn't let me kiss you on the lips, what was that about?
I hope I am a nice memory because you're not really one in mine. Sure we had good times, way back when we danced through the kitchen and you pulled me into your lap. When you held my hands and crawled over the table to kiss my forehead. But did you know that every time you stayed silent, the depths within me grew exponentially? So I grew big and hollow with millions of loving words written in diaries and poems. Left for dead and uninvited to your bed. Let's talk about that. When you heard me cry, felt my body shake from trying not to break, I know you registered that, I know you wanted to be anywhere but there. Why didn't you just say so? I wasn't strong enough to. I let you sleep through my nightmares and even made you breakfast. I should have left you, back in 2017. But I was hopeful and naive. Guess my friends were right. You did teach me everything I never want again so thank you for that. I sound bitter and full of resentment. It's mostly towards myself, why the **** did I stay? I deserve someone who's arms are the safest place on earth not the spitting image of pain.
Your stare could make roses bloom
Your lips poison so sweet
Your hands beg rain to fall
Your mind a labyrinth
Your soul endless layers of silk
Your voice like black coffee
Your touch makes time dance
Would you write me a song if you knew tomorrow I'd be gone? Glue your fingertips to gold and write me poems? Slowly drag the tip of your razor-sharp words along my skin, covering bone? Lick away tears with a tongue that sings to me in silver streams of love? I can hear your lips trying to run far off. Hide. Deep inside the forest of your bewildered thoughts.
Lovingly drink the night away and make love to me under long since passed away stars. Playing pretend that we are fine, as long as we hold hands. Red wine stains my mouth. Leave them be for now. Some secrets are better left uninvited to bed. And with glitter on your cheeks, would you still take me there? To the places you hideaway? A paradise meant for pretty girls with teeth too big for their face.
Serenade me an earthquake. I will try and not fall down. Dreaming of the lyrical poetry you spit at me with fire.
Don't forget the scratches that healed into nothing
He might not have scarred but he certainly clawed
Aimlessly and wild
At your heart
His intent set on never loving you right
That counts for something
So don't let him back in when he lies crying at your feet
Begging to be understood and pleading sorrow he doesn't feel
Bruises may lose color but never their ghost
So remember that because each hit after
Will hurt a tiny bit more than the one before
Your technicolor emotions turn into watered-down versions when the alcohol seeps into your veins. Creating watercolor paint, and with that, you craft me images of a world unframed. Sculpting beauty from hope and wonders you found on the floor.
Perspective lost to the consumption of liquid courage. Making way for actions unrestrained. A little too much. A little too lost. A little too loosely letting your tongue take charge. Amplified by longing. Tainted by the ever-growing ghost of tomorrow.
You will not remember when morning comes. The art you drew in lazy circles around my weary body. The daunting fables you wrote me into. Left to be nothing more than simple fever dreams to reminisce over.