you’re red like the flags on your wall,
you’re red like the pajamas you wore last time you called,
you’re red like the notification i get on Snapchat,
you’re red just like i am when you don’t reply back,
and i am a deep blue, it leaks out in my words
my stagnant navy is so glaringly insecure,
there is an aura of dusk that i tuck into free space
in a desperate attempt to be your favorite shade
it’s sad, but it’s true, we’re just too far apart
i can’t make you blue if you’re red in your heart
but you make me wish I wasn’t blue, you make me want to try
I wish I could explain it. I wish I knew why.
you make me wish I was yellow, you make me feel like I could be;
you’ve brought out the golden hour inside me

some nights you say things that stay in my brain
like that you can’t replace me
and no one else makes you feel the same
some nights i feel like you’re right there
a million miles away from me but
i feel you everywhere
but some days you disappear
some days there’s nothing worth saying
im so happy when you come back
until i remember you’re not staying
so i guess i get confused
on if i want to be farther or closer
i cant leave you where you’re at
until you give me closure
and maybe ill wish upon a star
or pick a four leaf clover
whatever i need to do
to stop this from being over

pathological manipulation in everyone I meet
who leave out the blueprints for calculated schemes
predisposed schizophrenia and incessant need to win
feels like fiberglass blood breaking through velvet skin
im scared all I inherited was my dads brain
and what my mom meant to pass on, was left in her grave
my boyfriend told me im selfish, I deserve the blame
but my ******* laugh only exposed my pain
i think the principle of sufficient reason is a form of psychosis
looking for signs from invisible beings so we don’t feel hopeless
but yeah, call it religion, it rolls of the tongue better
when I asked God what he thought, he never answered my letter

it started out with word games,
that should’ve been a sign,
you won every game of anagrams,
I didn’t know what was on the line,
I bet I could’ve won if I really tried,
but the red flags look pink when you’re colorblind
I said it and I meant it, I really will be fine
my attachment issues are no fault but mine

some nights are easy, i see all of the signs
that show me what I don’t have, I am sure to find
but some nights are melancholic
hyper focused on relations forged to be platonic,
and it’s ironic.
im ironic.
you sold me the story and I bought it.
I thought I fought this.
but when the signs lead back to you,
what am I supposed to do?
and now I worry my messages won’t even come through.
yeah it’s ironic,
i can’t stop it.
no matter how hard I try to block it.
it follows me from guy to guy, the demons i run from i always find,
but im fine,
it’s fine.
really I don’t even mind.
we can just talk from time to time.
you can think im crazy because
i can’t communicate right.
but I try.
i swear i try.
a symbiotic semi ****** far too nonchalant nightmare on my phone,
dripped in silver linings i pickaxe out of stone to subdue the fear of being alone.
and you know.
don’t you know?
and you give me nothing but just enough so I don’t go
but every word you say is thickly coated in your ego

it’s a game im always losing,
and a choice that you’re not choosing,
the same flower that was blooming
is now rotten petals from my assuming

its ironic.
i swore it was platonic.
but this ache is catatonic
the way i crave you is chronic
how can the two be synchronic?
i carry love like it’s astronomic
i never said it, but i thought it
maybe im the one who’s toxic

i count on you to disappear,
you never let me down.
i wish you’d just tell me,
you’ll always come back around.
how sad does that sound?
the hidden meanings ive found?
you painted me red and wondered why i looked like a clown.
i just laugh. im the joke.
i don’t get it so i smoke.
you are like a door stopper that’s always in my way.
i can never slam the door closed so i have to sit with my rage.
and my nostalgia is milk that’s soured with age.
a nightmare i masochistically recreate,
and then complain that I can’t escape
so I find new malignancy that I can blame.
to match a new frequency I can alternate,
a virus that consumes all of my drive space,
baby blue flowers in an empty landscape

I said you can’t hurt me,
but you knew I couldn’t
stop it.
i found the vulture,
inside of the ostrich.
and you found the victim
inside of the goddess.
i can’t help
but find that ironic.

the tarot readers say
the things I want to hear
they say you’re coming back to me
and that you have fear
you don’t think I’d take you back
and that’s why you don’t text
it has nothing to do with the fact
I’m not inside your head
No I believe the tarot readers
They know what they’re talking about
They tell me you miss me so bad
you can’t even say it out loud
And maybe it’s true you’d find that insane
But if you’re looking for me, I commented claim


I am at the end of your road
Waiting on you to come home
And if you really miss me
You’ll know where to go
And I am on my phone,
waiting for your text
If you really missed me
I’d be answering it instead.
So why do the tarot readers
say you’re coming back?
If you were on your way to me,
Wouldn’t I know that?
But they shuffle the deck and
I believe what they say
Because it’s easier to believe
That you’re just on your way

she doesn't know what she has,
what it's worth,
or how bad i want it.

but she will
when she loses it.