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you laugh at my lips and my arms,
the things they say and do

but i know that when you lay your head down on your pillow at night
i dance behind your eyes and torture you.

i hide in the webs inbetween your fingers
the little 'you are loved' pin on the dashboard of your old ford
the little memories
you try to
keep
from
penterating your empty skull
but still patiently sit behind your eyes.

i scare you because i understand you.

and the truth
kills all the weeds
that you've been so pertinatiously  growing in your head.
lies are a false flower
hiding in rotting wood
whilst
growing against the bars of the sun


i understand why your scared
why you hide,
love isnt for the faint of heart.
love isn't for cowards.

maybe that's why your mouth always tasted like lies.
maybe that's why you would always slink back for more only in the cover of
darkness

so chase me,
call me names
set me on fire
with the hate in your eyes;

keep on trying to pick at my skin
while i effortlessly pick at yours
i promise it won't work

because I don't think you realize
i stopped caring
not long after
the
night
you
told
me
you
did
.
i don't even miss you
i just hate what you've become.

i'm having trouble excepting that the boy i loved
died a long time ago.
please just hold me until the sun dies
or until i stop loving you.
whatever, comes quicker.
he wrote you poem after poem
with broken fingers

taught you how to shoot a gun
with the safety on

he

showed you how to love

without
a
heart.
The aftermath is what gets me
The remnants of
The picking up the pieces
How it is
two years later and I still am

I lost myself without realizing
after trying to move forward
I never made time to confront things
It took me months to notice that I had been missing

How do you get over
something you never really got over?

How do you move past
a moment thats still living in yours?

I tell myself it doesn't bother me
That I only remember when I lay in bed at night
Or walk for a while
Or think for too long
Or hear someone talk
Or breathe
I only remember
when I think I'm starting to forget

The mess I'm still sweeping
isn't a good enough story to tell.
It has yet to end.
I will be cleaning as long as I'm here,
I know this.
Two years later and I still am
I still am
I'm still here

— The End —