There's no regard for your feelings when my heart is in charge.
"You feel the same!"
It's a lie we let me live with.
I'd be okay with going into cardiac arrest over you, anyway.  

My brain thinks you're magnificent-
or perhaps horrendous...
Nonetheless, you seldom leave my mind.
I've considered purchasing another mattress
(my heart wants to know if we can share it).

i.

Promises lay broken at our feet- like the bottles of verity that you mix with your orange juice. We're resting in pieces; and these, our shattered dreams, lay like the dejected children of the sun- too far away to glimmer bright enough for our admiration. We were a star, baby, and I ruined it. I tore my calloused digits right into the core of your humanity. My eyes screamed of perjury while yours, open and pure, were infallible. I should not be allowed to cry rivulets of tears as I write this, and one might assume that it is because I am scared of this truth that fate lay heavy on my breast- but, no. At once I believed we were one, and I wish you would not ache from this torture as I do, dare I part my lips.

ii.

When I get on my knees at night, hands folded in prayer, I ask the Lord to shed some of his forever-shining light – the light of the sun, the essence of the universe (or so some say) down upon my weary shoulders. You never once asked why every morning started with a shot of liquor but had you, I would have exhaled the truth like a balloon with a pinprick of a hole punctured into its (my) flimsy skin. Your eyes, the same eyes I have worshiped for years cut into me with a truth that is poisoning in its potency (almost like the bottle of whiskey that has become my best friend). You think you’ve hidden the truth from me behind a veil, whispered lies escaping your lips- but we were once one, I know you better than I know the drum that beats in my chest. I look at you, at us, and think that even a dying star is beautiful.

While others were swapping gossip we were sharing hearts broken by those we had the (mis)fortune of calling 'family'.

I showed you how to hide your bruises and you taught me how to throw a right hook and, God, by no means were we anything, but you were everything and on nights when my father used me as a substitute for a punching bag you were there to hold me and you promised as I sobbed into your chest that you'd be my savior but even the strongest fall and your skin is too soft.

While others were swapping notes, we were sharing tears pooled at the toes of those whom we had the (mis)adventure of calling 'lovers'.

I showed you how to keep the pain of infidelity out of your eyes and you taught me how to set my problems on fire. Hell, by no means did I think I could be anything but you, you could do everything and I envied each gentle brush stroke you kissed to your world-canvas until all I began to see was green. On nights when I drew up the courage to try to be more than what I was, you would encourage me by guiding my hand and my heart, until I learned that my faith in you was dangerous as affection deepened from leaves into roots, and even though you were my savior my armor was too ******* strong to be broken again and I fell from your branches and crawled away slowly, even with broken limbs.

While others were worrying about their futures we were wondering if we even had a future, our romantic predisposition (un)fortunately labeling us to a life that was far from easy.

Somewhere my emotions went from protective to romantic and seeing you with him left me feeling as though I'd eaten an imploding star. Our friendship faltered as you tried so desperately to be someone you weren't and I struggled to come to terms with the fact that I was slowly, inevitably losing the only family I had left and all because I'd made the stupid ******* mistake of falling in love with my best friend. God. We weren't star crossed lovers - we were two black holes who had mistaken the other for a ******* star and realized too late that we were only destined to destroy, not love.

While others were worrying about how to use their tongues to knot cherry stems, we were worrying about how to use our teeth to win our battles, our gallant response to solitude (un)successfully molding us into warriors.

Somewhere my leaving pried at the sleep-dust on your lashes until you realized that this wasn't a dream- I was really gone and I knew seeing me with her left you feeling as though you'd danced with a cobra and forgotten your flute, or how to tap your feet to the ground accordingly. Our friendship died so quickly, and I'd begun to start seeing every color so vibrantly that emerald was only nostalgic and dull, though you struggled to come to terms with the fact that you didn't understand why I'd decided to follow the path of a kamikaze in my new life's cycle- surely that's what it must feel like, away from you? But 'best friend' is a category that isn't reserved from me, because nobody ever abashed me for watching your every move too deeply ( you danced when you walked, hoping that nobody would notice that extra sway in your hips ) or for the light in your eyes when you smiled ( hell, you were the sun, the stars, the moon, and all of their supernovas when you smiled at me ), and maybe I could say that I didn't know any better, but when my palms would ache for a little lick of your spine, I knew. I knew too ******* late that I'd better move galaxies away just to avoid being ****** further into you.

While others celebrated their long awaited ascent to graduation we too busy contemplating the almost (un)berable distance between stars.

Maybe it was because I'd mended your broken bones, helped hide the bruises - taught you the meaning of the word home that it hurt so badly. To pretend was to lie and I have always been honest and, God, I swear your eyes are made from lightning because the way you look at me has my skin tingling as though it'd been licked by fire and, Jesus, I have spent countless nights wondering what it would be like to have a taste of your lips. So when I showed up with a bottle of whiskey as my apology I knew I had doomed us because our past had proven that we lingered in darker tendencies and I'm not sure what burned more, the whiskey or your lips but God I would gladly drown myself in both. With your arms around my neck and my hands on your waist I knew that we weren't going to last because you deserved better than a carcass of a girl (even if your fingertips made me feel more alive than I have been in years). I was already dead inside but God, God - I would do anything to live for you.

Empty hallways, crowded streets.
I always wanted to grow old,
but I never wanted to grow up.

Why does leaving mean forgetting? I can already feel them all slipping away.

I don't want this to be over
but I've never seen a better ending.

I wish I could stay sober but you are an open bottle
and my lips crave your skin.