You know I fell in
love
with you Once.
But I was A little bit
Too Late,
Because You fell in love with
Yourself
First.

There is a work of art in the proportions of your body; a song in the rhythms of your movements. You can't see it, I know you don't believe me, but you are the most extraordinary creature I have ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with. If I were able, I would show you the beauty in your shoulder length auburn hair, and how it flows over your shoulders like a waterfall of silk. I would show you the steely grace in the strong chords of your neck as they ***** downwards into your perfect breast, and laugh when you protest that it might be compared to that of a twelve-year-old boy. I would show you the delicate loveliness of the lines creased deep in your palms, like a map of all that you have touched or felt in the years leading up to this moment; lines that I would follow to the ends of eternity, if only you would allow it. If I were able, I would study you. I would take notes with my fingertips on the tender skin of your spine and pay a kiss to each vertebra, like a tariff to a toll booth on the road of your body. If you would let me learn you, I would be the most studious attentive student there ever was; keen and detailed when practicing my new-found knowledge. Yet somehow, you are blind to this. But oh how I long to show it to you. Oh how I long to show you all the ways in which I want you. All the ways in which I wish you were mine. You cannot see your own perfection, listening more to the voices of doubt and insecurity more than to those of love and self-confidence, but oh how I wish you could see yourself in all the ways I do. And someday, I will make you see it. This, I promise.

And your flashing teeth,
And your beautiful lies

Then hold me down and steal my breath,
And keep me submissive,
A weakling at best.

Then leave me alone and rip me apart,
While selling my soul
And breaking my heart.

And keep building me up and beating me back,
And show me my faults,
And be what I lack.

But when white flags of truce Color our skies,
I'll look down on you love,
with contempt in my eyes.

The familiar weight of your head on my chest
Plus the feeling of your fingers laced between mine
Minus all the goodbye kisses pressed gently upon your lips
Multiplied by all the hours spent making out in my car at 12:00 on a school night
Sum up to equal this ache in my chest that comes with the knowledge that









this is all temporary.

But there was something in your
eyes
as you said it.
And at the time,
I read it as a kind of
nervousness.
But now I know that it was more of an
agony.

It has been two years, one month, 22 days, and 16 hours since I last saw you, and I have a gun up to my head. And even though it is my own finger on the trigger, I am just as vulnerable as if the appendage belonged to someone else. See, the thing is, you did not realize how much you meant to the world- and to me- when you found yourself in much the same position as I am now. And that is why I had to bury you, my love, under that old tree that you thought was beautiful but I thought was a mess. Though, when they moved to cut it down, I stood right there beside you in front of those **** chainsaws and I never moved in inch except to hold your hand. I will never forget the way you looked at me then. The next time I saw that look was when we were both standing there at the altar, you covered in blue and green sundress (because wedding dresses were too stuffy), and I in cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt you had picked out for me two days before. I remember waking up that night to you studying me. I asked you what you were doing, to which you replied, “I want to write about you”. I remember thinking that it was not humanly possible to love you any more than I did right then. A thought that would later be proved wrong repeatedly as the years passed.
And then, in the fall of 1997, you were diagnosed with a cocktail of manic depressive disorder and multiple sclerosis. I was terrified, to be perfectly honest. But I tried my damndest to keep you as happy and comfortable as I could make you. I began going to church. I wished on every star. We even sold our city house in favor of a simple country lifestyle to get away from the city air and stress of it all. And yet still your condition worsened. I didn’t get much work done anymore, but I was much happier taking care of you than I was working for that ******* company.
And then you left me that note. That ******* NOTE telling me that you were sorry and that you had had spoiled my life. Telling me that I was better off without you. Telling me that you were lifting the burden off my shoulders and that it was the best thing you could do for me.
       They found your body three days later on the edge of the river. You had put stones in your pockets, my love. But what I could never make you understand is that you were not my burden. You were my rope tethering me to the ground when I was in danger of floating off. You were the ship that carried me to new and exotic places when I lost my inspiration. You were the tools with which I painted a beautiful life, and a beautiful future up to this point. So love, when you took that final walk into the water thinking that you were doing me a favor, you were wrong. And that is why I am sitting here, on this ******* bed that once belonged to us, threatening myself for about the millionth ******* time since your passing. But this time, I think I might be ser---

There are times when I can't sleep
that I stare up at the ceiling
and count your breaths
or your heartbeats
or each perfect little finger you have
wrapped around my heart.
And then there are times when
I can't wake up
and I remind myself that
we used to share this bed.
And these sheets turn into monsters
that choke me with memories of you
and I can almost hear you whisper
"You'll never leave me, right?"
directly in my ear.

My broken
hungover mind
Is spinning
doughnuts around
The thoughts
of you
that I can't
Seem to
chase away,
And I think
I would never
Speak again
if it meant I
Could listen
to your
heartbeat
For only
an hour longer.

I might write about
Your smile
Or
Your laugh
Or
All the ways in which I wish you were mine.
I might detail for you my
Devotion or
Show you snapshots of my
Heartbeat
And how every
Thump
Sounds like your
Name.
I might tell you
How you haunt
My dreams.
But a good kind of haunting.
One that I want to
Put away in mason jars
So that I can
Save it for the winter.
When It's
cold and
I don’t
Have you
Anymore.
I might write to you about
How much
I love you,
Or I might just be content
In writing  
Nothing
At all.

shoot insults like bullets
glaring through shattered glass eyes
and baring teeth sharpened by pain
and experience.
We each blindly try to wound the other,
laying siege to the walls we raised to protect
our hearts that we tore out of a
brown paper bag last night when we
loved
each other. and we continue our battle,
that has turned into a war,
until our minds
mistake hatred
for infatuation.

My ribcage is the only thing
Holding me together today

You left me
colorblind
and
G    H       A      S       P       I       N      G
For air.









(And what was the point in the first place?)

We are so excited to
                COloR
OutSIDe
                                   THE
             LiNeS
That we forget
All of the people
We're
Hurting
When we do.

AlL around me i see people
with painted faces
and glIttering clothing trying
much too hard to be
perfect.
but whAt they don't know is that I can see the
cRacks
creeping ever so slowly
across their whitewashed
porcelain
faceS.

My eyes Landed on
Everything in the room
But you
And
You told me you
Loved me
With all the conviction of a
Murderer
Pleading
Innocent
To a crime
Everyone saw him commit.

I
  Guess
            She
                   Doesn't
L         O          V         E
                                       Me
                                             Anymore

You are always
haunted
by the idea that
you are
             l     o   s    i    n    g
   y    o    u    r    s    e    l    f.
And that may be true.
But
I found you hiding in my
lungs
one night,  
and now
I can't get you
out.

You took me
Quietly and
Without any
Sort of warning.
One second I was
Running and the
Next I was on the
Ground
G  h  A  s  p  I  N  g
For you.  
And you offered me
A hand, and then
Rubbed my nose in the
Dirt. But I didn't mind.
Because somehow
L      O      V      E
Is more beautiful when it's
Unrequited.

My head aches and
My heart prefers the
Floor over my own
Chest. And does that
Make me a poet?

When one being loves another,
They can be found in their
Eyes or their
Heart or their
Lungs,
Or some other vital *****
Necessary to specie survival.
But all my vitals are
Crashing and I found you
Hiding underneath my fingernails.

I try not to hate myself,
but
you were the breath in my lungs.