I spoke those words, and
immediately almost choked on them
I always second guess decisions,
usually I conclude I made the wrong one

but with you it felt right, at first
now I'm only left with doubts, and the thought
that maybe it was all too soon
because there's only silence between us

you rarely open up to me
yet when you do, I feel loved
the moment is always fleeting
with you, it's  either feast or famine

now I am scared to death to even talk to you
I'm scared that I might've lost you
scared of what you'll say, or not say
when all I really want to know is...

do you feel the same way about me?

Today was the first time I put on makeup in six days,
flinching as I anticipated the usual sting of misplaced liner.
I have to look good, though. After all,
how else do I make up for nearly a week of anesthesia?
There's nothing else i can do.

I lie on my back on dulled blue flannel
whispering a Hail Mary, one of many this week
and think of all the pointless, trivial things we shared.
You used to tell me that I was always brushing my teeth, and I smiled each time,
laughing through mouthfuls of blood and self-preservation.
How was your week? What's the weather like there? Are you thrilled for tomorrow? Do you remember what it felt like to fall asleep hearing me on the other side of the line?

I wanted to draw today, but notes on my clipboard were everywhere,
surrounding a graphite picture of Lisbeth Salander like a halo.
Notes to you, of course, all of them.
You used to say you liked my lips,
covering your own mouth
so I couldn't see your beautiful, dripping, two toned words.

My to-do list is filled with broken promises and shards of glass, but I swear,
I'll get around to it all some day.

sometimes
being outdoors just hurts
more than the dull ache of a morning with no aspirin
and more than the reflection of the shattered glass under my feet
sometimes
I evolve to cope
(but not often)
from neon paint reminiscent of a traffic stop, streaked across bark
to *** and la croix in trembling hands
sometimes
I wonder how your musician is doing
do you love him like you love frayed brushes and marilyn monroe?
sometimes
I say this is the root of it all.
perhaps my therapist would differ.

"How can I help you get back where you were?"
Come on now, you should know better.
The lacquered polish of lies said one time too many
I can't get back to where I was, not now.
I live and breathe you.
Tell me I deserve the world.
Crave me.
A barely human safety net, trying their hardest to break your fall
(I'll burn her apartment to the ground)