it has been three months.
you have moved on.
you have found someone else.
you even admitted you never loved me.
i should let you go.
*but i can't let you go.
i miss you, but *******.
1.) I'm tired of lighting cigarettes and joints when I really just want to light my insides on fire.
2.) I'm tired of kissing boring girls and boring boys in hopes of feeling something other than this eternal silence inside of me.
3.) I'm tired of drinking 20 cups of black coffee hoping the caffeine will stop my heart.
4.) I'm tired of taking blue pills, snorting white lines, shots of ***** and **** rips to hold me over for a couple hours.
5.) I'm really ******* tired of shaking between highs, head between my knees, heart pounding, breaking into a cold sweat.
I'm tired of being an addict.
I wrote this a week before I left for treatment for addiction.
if you were the sun and he were the moon
he'd die every day just to let you breathe
and if you're in need of a home for your broken heart
he'd make a house out of sticks on the beach, where you could live happy ever after
he'd live for you, he'd die for you, he'd do it all over again for you
he'd study the way your eyes roll back when he said something cliche
just as you'd watch the cigarette hang off his lips like a circus show in an artificially lit gas station
he'd rub little circles on your hand when introducing you to his friends because you were nervous
he'd fight off all the little demons dancing in your head by spinning you around his room like a ballroom floor
he'd say 'i love you' even if he knew those words couldn't hold you together forever
he'd say them for him, for you, for the nights ahead where you're miles away thinking of laying on his bedroom floor
you'd say 'don't' and he'd kiss you in the middle of your sentence to lengthen the limit of your forevers
he'd hold on to your wrists when you tried to slam his door, he'd let you hit him when you were angry
he'd climb up in the sky and hang off the edge of the crescent moon, and he'd reach up to grab a star to bring back down for you
he'd rearrange the constellations and align the planets to be just like you'd always dreamt about
he'd feel a pain in his stomach when the sun caught the tint of your hair the first day you said goodbye
he'd call you just to hear your voice on the answering machine, because you would never pick up
he'd stay with old friends just to ask how you've been, and feel an emptiness when he found out you were doing just fine
a boyfriend, an apartment, and a disease called growing up that you'd whispered you'd never catch one summer night
he'd do it all for you
if you just
let him in