Can we just sit alone in the dark
and talk about the world?
The dreams you had, bright as the sun
shimmering in your eyes.

You had a dream, you say,
where you and I were snuggled in bed
city lights flickering outside the window
but inside, all was safe and sound.

This could never be so
as we are separated by miles and miles
but we entertained the fantasy anyway
with your warmth next to mine.

You imagine me kissing you on the mouth
I imagine you nuzzling my throat
we can talk all we please
but it may not ever be so.

Yet, we made a promise still
to sleep in that dark room together
with the city glowing in the night
for us to be sleeping soundly.

And, for now, we will speak through screens
and texts, and written words and smiles
until that bed is ours, and we can doze off
into the milky orb of infatuation and oblivion.

I am not my own
rather a piece of me.

I am not alone
for your voices beseech me.

Lead not to the past
for the present is now.

I would burn hot and fast
but I know not how.

This is my cowardice
to be hopeless and alone.

But you can take my wretchedness
and turn it into home.

Although I have been lied to and deceived,
I feel not like the victim
only a barrier, a wall,
between the most beautiful things I could know.

I took things from you that you never had,
love, affection, passion that you did not feel
and stored up these lies inside of me
believing 'till the end that they were true.

But they weren't.

I was never close to you at all
we were distant
and you were not mine
your heart never once belonged to me.

So, how can I be the victim here, when I was greedy
and cruel, the terrible monster under the bed
gobbling up your heart so readily
never knowing that none of it was real?

How could I be?

Instead, let me be the monster I am
and punish my heart, destroy my body, cut out my soul
for I would rather have all the pain in the world
than know that my love was never enough, so I took yours instead.

I was never a victim, so you can't call me one. Name me what I truly am: **evil.

I took a walk around my neighborhood
             wondering if I might see something worthwhile.

All was silent, all was cold. I was alone
             with the wind blowing, noises echoing for the street.

I cried, feeling sorry for all of those lonely things
               but never for me, never for my own heart in isolation.

Because I deserved it here, in the chilly gray sky
               and not an angel in the heavens would vouch otherwise.

It's a bit too cold
in this ugly Christmas sweater
made badly, quickly by my grandmother
when she did such things for me.

I'm sitting in my room, legs pulled to my chest
shivering through my long pants and wool
finger shaking, palms clammy and cold
but somehow managing to type out these letters to you.

You tell me you're so oh so warm
where you are right now, in your little house
just on the very edge of the forest
cheeks rosy and sweet, just like the rest of you.

Brr, it's too cold outside
to be this giddy
but I am regardless of the weather
you kiss my head in the dark.

And I wake up, then, all alone
teardrops dripping from my eyes, nose running and frozen
in this horrible Christmas sweater
and I don't think I will be warm ever again.