I'm told to remember
The silence and the screaming

His fickle ways
My begging and pleading

The end
Was detrimental

My tenderness
Hung out to dry

Yet I can't help but miss
The delicacy

Sit and reminisce
On the highest highs

You are the question
I will never get the answer to

Asking myself "why?"
Only to come up empty-handed

Pass time with me...
And you will live forever.

I will memorize
The sound of your voice.

Only to compose
A piece about your vocal chords.

Stick by me...
And I will write about you.

Detail-laced words;
The specifics of your smile.

I will dedicate time
To mull over your dimples.

Spend all night
Visualizing the green of your eyes.

Take all day
Writing about the spaces between your fingers.

I am the writer...
You have been collected on paper.

You, artwork,
Now you are immortal.

Why do I allow you to break me?
You're already long gone

Is there nothing else to do?
Twisted, how you love to hurt me

Kissed your knuckles
Before you "caressed" my cheek

Cleaned your knife
Previous to my inflicted wound

It hurts to hold on
But I'm having a hard time letting go

I'll need to sever my hands
And watch the maroon flow

We may have a past,
But "stop" means just that.

I shouldn't have to pull your hands away.
Don't you dare ask me if we're okay.

You may have a hard exterior,
But my body is not inferior.

I am a push-over...
But a four-leaf clover.

And I will not stand
For disobedient hands.

you were the last
bird of summer

the golds of the
sun melted as you flew

wrapped to an oak-washed
sky, that slowly unravelled

you were my love
and i loved you with every

soft breath of my soul.

Dry and cracking
My wounds scabbing
Over; displaying healing as an option

Yet it's easy
To start peeling
Away; touching the tender skin underneath

You, tender wound
Irritate mood
Your mind temperamental in every wrong way

Tending gashes
Quiet passions
Letting sensitive skin heal over anew

My heart was all too soft.