The footprints
on your back
come from the people
you thought
you could trust the most
and that's why it hurts so bad.

They asked us
to draw a monster
so I carved your name
onto my wrist
to remind myself
that monsters were never
under my bed,
but in it.
Lying with me.
Playing with my hair
and holding my hand.

What I feel for you
can only be
measured in galaxies
but how is that
if I've only know you
for a length of time
that can so easily
be measured in days?

You suffocated me
with pressure
but I still
thanked you
for taking my breath away.

I did believe
in heaven
or hell
but not having you
with me
was hell.
                                                                ­                        Knowing that
                                                            ­                            you still loved me
                                                              ­                          when I didn't
                                                                ­                        love myself
                                                          ­                              was heaven.
                              And I believe in that.

You grew a garden
in my heart
last June
and I've spent
months picking the
petals off                                 he

loves
                            me
he
       loves
                    me
not.

There was a house
built on memories
with walls
covered in kids
and a basement
full of toys and stories
but it had creaky floors
and broken glass
that reminded too much
of red and blue lights
and strangers in uniforms.

I carved
my skin
like I
carved our
names on that
tree.

And I know
a boy
with brown hair
and sad eyes
whose heart
was so heavy
and his speech
full of lies
he said he was
happy, but how
could that be?
When honestly,
he was only
just as "happy"
as me.