Whenever a plane flies over my house it sounds like it's going to crash. Like the wings are too broken and can no longer carry the weight of the clouds that weren't supposed to be heavy. And whenever a plane flies over my house it sounds like your shouts that night. Like your heart was too broken and could no longer carry the weight of loving the quiet girl who didn't look depressed. And whenever I hear those stupid planes I feel the unwelcome pang of guilt that I ever told you of the thoughts that went on in my head, I can remember the stormy day that I told you, I remember because no planes flew over my house and it was because my plane of truth was crashing that day. The imaginary wings my mind created were too broken and could no longer carry the weight of being the pretty girl who kept everything to herself because she was so ****** up that nobody could bear to hear without crashing and I'm so sorry that I made you crash because you crashed on the island and died instead of in the ocean that I crashed in yet couldn't drown in. And your plane crash is a wave that crashes over me, yet doesn't **** me, every time a stupid plane flies over my house.

Sometimes at night when I can't fall asleep I think of your creamy skin that shone in the moonlight that summer night. I think of how the sun would hide in your presence because it was never bright compared to you, and I think about how the moon was the one that loved you because not only did it commerce with the dark but the light too. I think of the dark black of your hair when my greedy fingers would dance with it, so dark it always reminded me of the burnt cookies my grandma used to make, the ones you used to eat and tell me stories of adventures we'd take when we were older and rich. I think of how your smile would thaw the broken words that my father had yelled at me earlier in the day and replace them with words so sweet they could make cookie dough, like the one we tried to make that day at your mothers house because she slept in and we were left in the kitchen alone all afternoon with nothing but cookie dough that decorated us instead of the cookie sheet. I think of the day at the beach when you said cookies is to cream what you are to me and I remember thinking that cookies are to cream what your hair is to your skin and it made sense because you were always such a perfect paradox that even foods were named after you. And when those moments of drunken weaknesses end, I think of how dark your skin seemed when I only saw the back of it and knew it was the last of it I would ever see. And I never wondered why I suddenly hated my favorite ice cream shop that we used to go to on Sunday nights back when you didn't say you hated me and I didn't have a reason to believe you.

Take me back to the white house in the forest. The one that always had the birds sitting on the porch to listen to the melody of your voice. The one that the failing sun always shown brighter on to try and beat your smile. The one where your eyes where the only thing that sparkled. And then I remember that the weeds have grown tall and the sun decided not to shine there anymore. I remember that the paint has chipped and along with it the bird feathers that used to float around. I remember that if I went back to that white house in the forest I'd find nothing but broken promises that you forgot we made. So take me back in time to that white house that your smell attracted the squirrels and, of course, me. Because if I don't go back in time, I'll be surrounded by nothing but the thought of how even the air stopped moving that night when the white house was a smoky blue and your words stabbed knives in my back with each syllable. I'll be surrounded with the reminder that you've left and so did my heart.

I always loved the smell of pound cake in the morning. Of the sweet smell of a mothers love to her broken child. I always loved to look at its fluffy surface and touch it's soft physique. And maybe that's why I loved you, because you smelled of the rarest sweets and your skin was so soft and inviting. Your smile outshone the sun and your lips were sweet to taste with mine. But maybe that's why you left, because I never knew how to eat that pound cake and soon the smell would be gone and the rest of the world with any smarts at all were the ones who ate it. Maybe that's why you left, because I was too scared of losing you to love you. And now another eats from you, nibbles from your soft physique and sleeps to the aroma that is you. And I sit up at night with the thought of the pound cake that I never got to taste.

You don't get it. You don't get that I have to cry myself to sleep only to scream my way from a nightmare. You don't get that I look in the mirror and curse the image. You don't get that whenever someone calls me smart or pretty I twist a knife into my dark soul for deceiving them. You don't get that I walk around with the weight of the knifes  plunged into my back from people I was supposed to trust. You don't get that the only reason the knives are in my back is because I'm unworthy of love, but keep trying to find some resemblance of it. You don't get that deep down I have this urge to find someone to love me even though I know someone never will. You don't get how ugly I am inside. You don't get how DARK it is inside. So don't you dare begin to "judge" me without getting me.

I will fall in love with you tonight.
I will
Fall
In love, with you tonight...
I will, fall in love with you tonight.
It ain't the right kind of love.
Oh it ain't...
The right. Kind of love.  
It ain't the right kind. Of love.
It ain't the right kind of, love.