Ohio is for lovers
And I'm the jealous type
You'll be lucky
If you leave it alive

Wringing dead palms like wedding bells
No bouquet on an early grave

Winter came on December the 7th
Prayers from the penitentiary
I begged them to close the gates
Hoping that you would freeze

Ohio is for lovers
And I'm the jealous type
You'll be lucky
If you leave it alive

she was lighter
and he was cigarette

she needed him to feel worthwhile
and he needed her to feel the flames

but just like every lighter
her light ran out

and just like every cigarette
his fire died

and just like that
they forgot who they are

You shout at me,
Call me a *****,
And keep swearing at me.

I put on an brave face,
Say that I don't care,
Then head to my room, race,
Before the tears fall, This is just not fair.

Your words hurt and sting,
I didn't ask for this,
But your shouts get louder and louder,
You know I'm not listening.

I've lived with you for years now,
You're my guardian for GOD's sake,
But right now i can't even remember,
The last time my smile wasn't fake.

The longer I act,
The easier it gets,
My friends don't even know one fact,
About me, as I keep up with my lies.

I get shunned at school,
For being smart,
I get pushed and shoved,
Like some useless old tool.

They don't know,
How much it hurts,
But I will never free or show,
The pain I keep locked up.

They don't know how much I want to die,
I just scratch and cut and keep scratching myself,
Tonight my brother asked about my marks,
But I just shrugged it off and ate my pie.

They don't know the pain that is the price,
For me just to keep going, live,
But death offers a relief,
One that panadol could never give.

So I lay here confused,
As to what to do next,
Knife at the ready,
Wrist already flexed.

I start cutting for the last time,
Happy to die,
But you find me and start shouting,
And I wonder why??

I watch the tears fall down your face,
You'll never accept me in the same way again,
The blood seepes through my shirt,
Ruining the lace.

You never cared before,
So why start now,
These are my last thoughts
As I calmly walk towards the white glowing door.

*Finally gone,
Yes I'm free,
Now I'm finally good enough for someone,
That someone is me...

Step 1
"I love you."
Get your ready-made heart
Tender from the bruises
Because of last night's dream about him

Step 2
"I still care for you, as a friend."
Season with salt
Not the type that comes in a box
But the special kind
That comes from his warm breath
And magically condenses on your cheeks

Step 3
"So I like this girl now.."
Let it sizzle
From the uncontrollable jealousy
Let it spit
At that innocent girl
But let's not kid ourselves now
The only thing getting burnt
Is your heart

Unexpectedly
A layer of frost
Surrounds your heart
A defensive mechanism
Now an ice box

Exhausted
From the painful bruises
The salty tears
Burning anger
The icy numbness

Darkness takes over.

Repeat step 1

When I was little,
Like, between 8 or 11-
I used to wonder,
Standing with the fiery Iowa
Sun slowly blistering my shoulders;
Where does the time go
When it flies away?
And if time sometimed
Slowed, stopped, stood stock-
Still, why could I not
See its feet?

If...
(When)
I was 8, 8 years from Mom's
Belly, where was 9 for me?
Born: Thursday, May 9, 1963.
So, I can do the rudimentary
Addition: 5/9/71, I'm exactly...

8. 2 weeks from 3rd grade being
Over. Happy. Birthday. Presents.
Cake, ice cream, a baseball game

To hurry to, Teddy, we'll open
Your presents and have cake when
We get home from the ballgame.
Ugh. Baseball. All I'm going to be
Thinking obsessing about is what
Lies beneath colorful wrapping.
Time has a special
Bitter flavor when you hope and pray
The ball won't be hit to you, ever.
Baseball is full of confused time-
Time scurrying and rolling away from you
In the form of a stupid large white stitched
Ball that delightfully challenges you to be
Quicker than it - Time then languishing,
Elongating, becoming the torture of impatience
Trying to stand in line and wait with that
Virtuous virtue that time ever mocks.

So it's the next day, and I'm 1
Day past 8. I'm a clock, then?
I stored memories of 2, 3? Years
Ago? And I stored scars, dumb
Ideas materializing as real
Blood, pain, stitches, howling...
Did I store time inside my
Mind, heart, left knee, right
I didn't know. Life is often
Too big a concept to really
Grasp when you're eaten
By 8 mosquitoes.

And time slows down to
A scaly crawdad claw
That won't let go of your
Left pinky finger.

I thought, as I rode my bike
Down the middle of the street,
What about next year? 5/9/72?
Ninth birthday? Where did that
Day live? Was it millions and millions
Of miles Earth had to travel to line
Itself up clockwork-universe style
With the time that spun, tilted, and
Pushed the earth through space?

What if I died? Did the time
God gave me go back to Him?
Like I was a human library of congress
Book to spend a short amount of
()
And then be returned to my
Original Owner?

My sister told me once,
"Everything between men
and women is a game"
I never understood
what she meant—until
I met you. Back and forth,
we play to see how far
we can push our boundaries
without breaking. Tonight
you can make me blush but
tomorrow you will be
up all night replaying
my hand on your chest.
They say love is our favorite game.
But baby, this was never about love.

This is about boredom,
this is entertainment.
This is a constant fight
for the upper-hand.
There are only two ways
this will end:

I.
I will fall a little in love with you.
Instead of a game, you will become
a puzzle. I'll start believing
your edges fit with mine and
I will hate myself for letting this happen again.
Because I have done this before,
I always feel too much for
people who do not feel anything
at all. I am the girl that's great
for marking time. Quick remarks,
a smirk, a laugh that is too loud—
I am neon lights and for now
you can't look away but eventually
your eyes will get tired and you
will fall in love with a girl
who looks like candlelight
.
II.
I will push you away.
I will hate you for making
me another stop on the way
to a destination
and you'll hate me for ruining
our game because this was supposed
to be fun, this was supposed to
be a boost to your ego,
a way to pass time.
But you will get over it
because girls like me are disposable
and you will replace me before
I get the chance to say I'm sorry.
I'm sorry we can't be friends that
flirt without me getting hurt I'm sorry
I can't be all fun and no commitment I'm sorry
you can't fall in love with me I'm sorry
my heart always gets in the way
You will be fine.
I won't be able to look at you.

So you see,
this is game of ours isn't fair.
You don't deserve to
feel like the bad guy
and I shouldn't let myself
get hurt again. I know I should
stop this before we get to far in but
baby, I couldn't quit
even if you asked me to.
Because my fear of losing,
my fear of getting hurt doesn't
matter because my hope,
that maybe you could be different,
that maybe you could fall in love
with me, is bigger than the fear
of losing a game.

While we play this back and forth,
please remember that
I'm not trying to get hurt.
I'm just a girl who tries
so hard and is never the one--
but would rather play and lose
then not play at all.

I know I don't make sense.
But the game is more fun
that way, isn't it?
Please just don't stop.
Smile at me,
touch me,
look at me,
that way you do—
our game
has only just begun.