i am the one your mother warned you about.

i am the one with the too-short hair and nails like claws.
i am the one with clean hands, but when i smile you can see it on my teeth.
i am the one who can break you with a mere sentence.
i am the one who destroys.
i am the one that will indefinitely remain in your heart, no matter how many times you scrub, polish, bleach, or burn the memories.
i am the one that survives.

i am the one with eyes that dart and a smirk sharp enough to slice steel.
i am the one who laughs at love and keeps raven feathers in my hair.
i am the one that cries tears of acid onto your shirt and burns hole in your skin.

i am the one your mother warned you about.

no matter how far you stray
no matter how far you fall
no matter how lost you get
no matter how many times
                    you hit the wall

I will always love you
from the bottom of my heart
greek gods carved me into a bottle
that will never run empty or fall apart

your tongue can be sharp
but I know your true intent
your aim is focused at your head
what else could you have meant?

I know you only want to hurt yourself
and what's better than the sweet torture of
hurting the person who holds your heart?
my dear, no more tears. you are the one that I love.

I am a pool of unfathomable depths;
dive in with caution or I may just
swallow you whole.

let your I love yous spill forth
as if you could never hope to hold them back
(sliding through the fingers covering your mouth
and drenching your shirt in the sickly sweet mess
of metaphors and half-formed thoughts
and the sincerest of compliments).
do not use them as bandages
to wrap the temporary wounds life inflicts
(for life will always contain pain
and I'd rather you tell me you love me
because you cannot stand not to
than because you think hearing it may help).

the sand is rich and dark-- lovely to look at, but disgustingly cold and sticky to the touch
the waves are frothy and harsh and you can tell by the slap of water upon water that they would sting if you waded in
one lone gull circles overhead, stark against the impenetrable grey that is the sky

you leave footprints along the damp ground, dancing just out of reach of the unforgiving sea
and the fog rolls in when you blink.
however,
there is no lighthouse
for sailors lost
on this shore.

i am clasping my fingers so tightly over my mouth
that my skin has turned white and my nails are digging into my cheeks
in an attempt to hold the flood of words back
                                                                                        (I’m sorry I love you I’m sorry I love you
                                                                                           I’m sorry I love you I’m sorry so sorry
                                                                                           Please forgive me for I do only wrong)
because this is the time that
even though the words spilled like an unsteady display in the toy aisle last night
i know i have done no wrong
when all i ever did
was care.

there’s something uplifting about looking up at my window.
no matter the time of day, as long as the slats are open,
if you look up and out, you will see the tops of trees and open sky.

in the early evening, it reminds me of you.
the blue is fading to a duskier shade, like that of your eyes,
and the leaves of the trees shine a yellow-brown as the sun hits them;
they sway in the breeze, just as your hair does.
the light is warm and gentle and brushes against the white of the open panels
and glances off the wall to the right, painting my room in aureate hues.
I remember having all the time in the world to watch you during these hours,
having all the time in the world as you slept or fiddled around in my bed.
sometimes we would lay entwined and my fingers would brush over your stubble
as your hands grazed through my hair and up and down my side.
your lips would brush against my skin as the leaves brushed against each other outside.
no noise, no chaos. just our breathing and the dimming light the sun provided.

the early evening is the calm before the night and the madness it brings.
gold and glory and grandness and grace,
a warm haze of gradual darkness descends as the haven melts away like the hours we spent.
the sun lights up the sky in vivid pinks and oranges,
leaving bruised purples and navys in its wake.
you left as it set. your mood reflected the bruises the sun left in its abrupt departure
and I longed to paint you in pinks and oranges and the blazing, brilliant red it became
before it disappeared beneath the horizon, just as you did when the car door shut behind you.