You
Me
Them
They
Us
Her
Him

I need a break from all of that. No more memories. Please. Just stop.

Why did you have to pull me in like this?
Why couldn't you be like every other girl?
Benign? Impermanent?

You were untraditional, unorthodox,
You became air where there was none,
Water where there was only dust

And then you told me that you were sick,
And nothing brings two people in like illness,
All of a sudden everything changed

I've never felt like much of a father figure,
But ******* you made me care like one,
Probably why it's still so agonizing

And I'm still tasked with laughable ideas
Like "letting go" and "moving on"
And I know that there's no alternative

There is no room for me in your life,
You've set sail for new waters,
And I'm simply left to drown

I guess I cling a little tighter because everything that has ever meant the most to me has suddenly dissapeared
and I'm sorry if i'm always around, making my presence known
but I'd rather keep reminding you
that I'm here, waiting, watching and wanting to be adored every second

I'm sorry if it's too much
but all I want is to be held

I thought your hands
were made of magic

Because when you touched me
my skin turned shades of pink
but also green and purple,
eventually blue and yellow

I still believe magic is real
but now I'm looking in different places

I
sabotage
the
wheels

before I get on the wagon.

Sorry I'm such a burden.
But my depression can show up so sudden.
It comes an goes,
Sometimes when I fake that smile to the world,
I can fake out myself.
I think I'm happy sometimes.
But I never am.

I think about her naked sometimes
I probably think about it
because I doubt she would give me the satisfaction
of touching her in the heat of passion
so it’s just easier for me to imagine
walking in on her in the bath, drinking a glass of red
maybe cabernet sauvignon, who knows, who cares?
a light steam rising off the foamy suds
they cover only what I want to see
even in my fantasies I like to be teased
she is calm
as though she left the door unlocked intentionally
waiting like a painting in a gallery for me to clumsily stumble in
and find her beautifully sprawled in a Victorian tub with copper clawfeet
painted wet-on-wet like a portrait by John Singer Sargent
her milky blue and marble eyes soften my will like whiskey
and I find myself kneeling beside the bath
my hand gently trembles as it glide against satin velvet skin