sometimes i just want to write.
sometimes i just want to say,
“i still remember the way you hurt me.”
and sometimes, i want to say,
“it still hurts, you know.”
sometimes i want to let you know
how angry i am.
sometimes all i want to say is,
“*******,” and “goodbye.”
sometimes i want to write down
all of the words i’m too afraid to say, like
“i liked your pajama pants” or
“you’re uglier than i remembered” or
“i still cry myself to sleep sometimes
because i miss you so ******* much.”
sometimes i talk about things that are,
versus things that were,
and i like to decide which is better.
when the words just don’t come out right?
well that can be the worst.
because there’s a lot that i want to say,
but no way to articulate it.
i guess now is one of those times.
there’s no real words to say
how lonely i feel, with no one to talk to
when you’re not around.
how scared i am, of failing.
how happy i am, that i can almost say
we’ve been together for
“a year” instead of “five-six-seven months.”
how tired i am, without someone
or something to stimulate me.
there’s a lot that can change,
and a lot that can happen when you leave home.
it’s a chance to spread your wings,
but what do you do when
you don’t know where to fly to?
for now, i’ll walk to the library and get a coffee,
and try to finish this paper
before you get back home with me.
maybe then i won’t be so lonely
or scared or tired.
and we can crawl into bed together
like every weekend before,
and we can watch movies
and we can eat popcorn
and grow old together.
sometimes, this is all i really want to do.
and almost always,
this feels better than having something to say.

one question
that i want to know:
who hurt you?

he sighs,
lights up another cigarette.
this time he knows something is different.
he waits patiently,
coffee in one hand and nicotine in the other,
staring aimlessly at his phone.
he had lived through another silent day.
there really was no surprise in that.
it had been days since she disappeared again.


the routine was so consistent that her
absent nature was almost as secondhand
as the smoke she used to inhale when she
cuddled against his shoulder.
he was weary now,
because he tired of not knowing
what she was consuming,
or who she may be *******.
he was wary,
not knowing if she was lying in a gutter
or just lying on her back,
legs spread in an invitation to a myriad of catastrophe.
at one time,
he was the one spreading those legs.
but he was also the one tucking her in at night.

but one day,
something clicked;
she woke up one morning cold and indifferent.
her summer smile had faded,
her eyes grew frigid.
he remained patiently by her side,
until she stopped coming home.
until she started drinking herself into oblivion
with people who did only god knows what to her fragile frame.
this time,
he was ready to give up hope.
this time,
they had fought so terribly
that he knew she wasn't coming back.
he knew it wasn't easy to hear
someone you trusted say things like,
"*******, you filthy ****"
and
"i hope to god you choke on the next pill you pop."
he wished he could take the words back,
but his heart was so broken.
she was so distant,
he wanted to make sure he reached her.
and apparently,
he did.
she had shaken her black hair,
blinked tears out of her gray eyes,
and turned on her heel.
that was the last he had heard from her,
and even now he yearned to hear
her voice on that phone;
the phone lying in front of him.
any words at all,
to know she was alive.
maybe, even, that she still loved him.

because, after all,
isn't that what he wanted?
isn't that why he picked her up,
****** on roadsides,
and dried her tears on his sleeve?
isn't that why he allowed her to
hide from the world in his bed;
kept safe somewhere between box springs,
his comforter,
his arms?
he would do anything to help her,
but she was a tragedy:
a life doomed to fronts of indifference
and too deep of cuts on wrists,
thighs,
hips.
and she wouldn't let anyone help her.
any gentle touch caused her to run,
and she never wanted to come back.
and this boy,
he just kept running after her.


he takes a sip and sighs.
he ashes his cigarette,
studies it,
puts it out.
he studies the bottom of his coffee cup
and carries it to the sink.
as he rinses it,
he hears small footsteps,
and an equally small pair of hands
snake their way around his waist.
"i'm home," she breathes into his ear.
this night wasn't so different than any other,
except that she came home
sober
yet warm.
he had been wrong.
so he turns and looks at her,
takes her hand,
and leads her to bed.

he tucks her hair behind her ear, then goes back to reading his book.
and she stares at him and wonders simultaneously how she got so lucky, and how things got to be this way. because no one ever told her what it's like to be in love, and no one can tell her which way is up.
"listen to your heart," they say.
but untrained hearts are just as faulty as untrained minds, and this girl is spinning circles trying to figure out where to go.
which step is next.
she bites her lip, that one he's brought between his own teeth countless times before. she guides her hand along his arm, stares at his knees. she curses them, because they are what she fell in love with.
she fell in love with his hands, and his knees.
and she curses herself, too. "stupid girl, no wonder you don't know what love is."
too busy wasting time watching skin taught on bone and how swollen knuckles settle.
too busy staring to catch her breath.
'silly me,' she thinks.
she counts the miles that will soon separate them, comparing them to the amount of freckles she'd mapped out on his back.
the odds weren't in her favor.
but there was a sense of despairing hope, even.
in crowded train lines and sticky nights running from everything.
under streetlights, dancing,
and clutching each other during thunderstorms.
'don't lose hope,' she thinks.
'you may be stupid but don't lose this.'
questions might never be answered but at least there's promises, whispered and held between their chests.
she might not ever know if this is it or if she's wasting time,
but god knows it never feels like time wasted when she watches those eyelashes close.

he pressed her against the wall,
the white tile leaking its cold temperature
deep into her bones.
she grabbed the rod for balance
as his tongue grazed her skin.
her fingers tangled immediately in his wet curls,
his hand cupped her cheek.
heavy moans slipped into each other's mouth
when fingers roamed.
when the heat is high,
she never knows if she'll make it out alive.
but sometimes it's all she's got.

they used to tell me that i try too hard to be grown up.
i'm always questioning, calculating, planning.
walking in shoes too big for my feet,
and then wondering why i trip.
sometimes i feel like i can't help it when i
fall
so
hard,
but then i remembered that i forgot to tie the laces.
i remember that i live in metaphors.
making excuses and avoiding the present.
i try so hard to prepare for the future
that i forget to fix what's happening now,
or even to be happy with it.
i don't remember to feed my cat because
i'm too stressed trying to figure out
how to pay for her next bag.
i forgot my "see you later"
because i'm choking on "goodbye."
i need you to help me grip onto
what's here and what's now.
i need you to hold my hand.
please don't forget that i need you,
even when i don't know how to say it.

she kisses hearts
and stabs lips,
luring them into traps
and whispering,
"this is all your fault."
she counts wishes
and makes stars,
one for every finger
and two for every toe,
"he'll come home tomorrow."
she drinks air
and breathes water,
gripping edges of sheets
and moaning,
"what's your name again?"
she smiles into his hand
and slips a bit on her expression,
emotions dropping
faster than the temperature.
"he was always full of ****."

pardon me
if i say too much,
but frankly
i don't give a ****.

my favorite thing about her
is how much she looks like
i did the night
you begged me to stay.

she maps out my skin like it's territory to be discovered,
tasting each inch and leaving broken blood vessels in her wake.
little flowers blossom on my skin,
leaving me her very own masterpiece,
one that would make Jackson ******* proud.
she sends shivers down my spine with the heat of her tongue.
and I can't help but go weak in the knees, to fold under her gaze. to ebb and flow with her like waves.
and as she sinks her teeth into my skin, she marks the spots that she likes best.

i loved you in ways i could never explain.
i loved you in blues and purples and reds.
i loved you in bruises and broken blood vessels.
i loved you in whispered secrets and early sunrises.

but now i love you in dishonesty.
i love you in broken promises and disbelief.
i love you in backroom conversations.
i love you in ****** poetry.

and now i cry when you smile.

as she crossed the bridge,
she dropped a match on each plank.
she let it burn;
begged it to, even.
severing ties wholly had never been her thing,
but this time was different.
this time, she needed to cut ties
like the ribbons she split
trying to open presents on christmas day.
in order to reach the happiness inside,
she first had to cut the ties
and remove what was in her way.
the wrapping paper may have been beautiful,
but it smothered everything.
it was always in the way.
and it was time to move past that.
so she crossed the bridge and looked back,
"just one more time," she said.
one tear slipped,
a sacrifice for all of the broken promises
and twisted lies.
another slipped,
as all of the nights spent with stomach pains
from laughing too hard
and groggy mornings
from staying up all night whispering
lit up with shades of orange and red.
then she turned on her heel and ran,
before the ashes could choke her out.

it's funny -
every time we take a second to breathe,
we notice how different things are.
from before him.
to him.
to me.
to losing me.
to gaining me,
for me to leave again.
and somehow,
managing to slip through the cracks
into you and me.
to slip into a stride that has,
for some unknown, ******* reason
has always felt right.
****** knee, ****** hip,
we always manage to have that stride.
parallel,
oh god but so perpendicular.
and when you're quiet, i speak
and sometimes the other way around.
we've lost touch with those pathetic,
dramatic grasps of air and
breath and love and it's such
a relief, to be where we are.
to be given what we fought so hard for.
oh but isn't it funny,
how now that you have what you
said you begged for,
how you've lost so much.
lost a place and a sense of worth
and maybe confidence that
never really was there in the first place.
but you have me.
i warned you i was venom and
****** and poison -
and at times you may be content
believing that those are
inflated metaphors to coax my ego.
but my words are sharp, too sharp,
sharper than most knives because,
well - you love me.
and when words are cheap,
i make them worth their
weight in gold.
and you,
you're soft and malleable.
and god do i tear that apart sometimes.
but remember something -
when we were children, we had
silly putty that we loved,
but loved to destroy.
but the greatest part is
how it always came back together in the end,
with your fingerprints and dirt and
dust of the memories of that day
imprinted in it.
maybe it isn't pleasant and
i apologize for taking pleasure in that,
but i love you in my own way.
take a few steps back -
like i love to do when i ramble.
and remember i said
you're soft and malleable.
and please don't ever change -
because do you know
what else is soft?
malleable?
gold.
you're golden, baby.
and don't ever lose that shine.
i have loved you,
i love you,
i always will love you.
scars and mistakes and
addictions and tears.
laughter and sweets and
music and friends.
i love you.
don't ever forget it.
you're the golden girl.

it's funny how stark a difference
there is before and after that day.
a literal line can be drawn.
there's evidence, so don't try to deny.
i don't know who changed more,
you or me.
i stopped saying those words
but you stopped reciting them.
i stopped reaching for your hand
but you stopped clenching so hard.
i stopped singing for you
but you stopped listening to me speak.
and maybe we changed together,
and maybe it's for the best.
but when a foundation crumbles,
is it still safe to walk?

it doesn't quite make sense but
i liked what we had, when we had it.
i've always had an issue with rejection,
but this time, this time is different.
it hangs around my throat, tightening,
choking me out until my face turns blue.
["so wear me like a locket around your throat,
i'll weigh you down, i'll watch you choke.
you look so good in blue."]

i settled so comfortably into the routine
of hidden messages and even more clandestine meanings
that i guess i forgot how to operate the english language.
your fingers settled so comfortably into mine,
with your lips on the back of my hand and mine on your jaw,
that i guess i forgot how to use them to hold on.
["i love you so much that it hurts my head.
i said i don't mind you under my skin,
i let the bad parts in, the bad parts in."]

i guess this is just how it has to be.
i can't say i'm entirely surprised;
after all, we are soul mates. cut from the same cloth.
honestly i'm not sure what i miss,
because it was never mine to start with.
but i do miss you. i miss you. i do.
["and the saddest fear comes creeping in:
that you never loved me, or her, or anyone, or anything.
i knew you were trouble when you walked in."]

i want to tell you that i hate you.
i want to say that you were a mistake,
that you were something i regret.
that i wish we had never met and
never talked in the first place.
i want to tell you that i
wish we were never anything,
if we were anything to start.

but you're done with hearing from me.
sick of hearing sad stories.
tired of hearing tired apologies.
and i know you almost want to fix it,
but you always decide against it.
you stop replying.
you hit "ignore."
you delete your inbox.

i guess the lesson i've learned
is that i can't change the past.
i can't always fix what's broken -
especially when i'm the broken thing.
and i think that i might be okay with this.
i just wish you weren't roadkill in the process.
it'd be so nice to have you among the living.

i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to listen to that song again.
but i know i found the perfect song for you,
and i’m not sure i’ll ever tell you what it is.
knowing me,
you’ll find out someday soon.
but for now,
this is my secret.

i walked down the stairs,
thought i glimpsed you
out of the corner of my eye.
of course it was you.
you grabbed my arm,
pulled me to you.
i wrapped my arms around you.
your hands slid around my waist.
why did i let go?

because i had to.
you had gone upstairs
to find me.
i had come downstairs
to avoid you.
i studied you closely.
the snake bites.
the black hat.
your pupils so big,
your eyes wide with wonder.
you were so excited to see me.
******* ****, why did you
look at me like that?
i miss you, ******* it.

i wanted to hold you.
run away with you.
wake up to you.
but i remembered that i had
let go of all of that.
you had been dead to me
for months.
then i remembered the heartbreak,
the wasted memories and the
kiss goodbye.
so i said goodbye,
and i watched you walk away.

i'm not in love with you,
i never have been.
but i love you dearly.
but love and hate have
a very thin line, and
honey, i may just love you too much.

i'm going to get better.
and when i do,
i'll try to remember you fondly.
because the thing about rock bottom,
is that the only way to go is up.
so while you're drowning at
the bottom of your barrel,
i'll be treading water,
climbing up and out.

your fingers twitch and you
know ****'s about to go down.
next your heart begins to beat
faster
and
faster
until it feels like it's about to take
flight.
it pounds it's way into your throat,
your stomach is in a knot.
and somehow, you're still standing
wide-eyed with knees locked.
his ****'s on your door step.
to know he was here,
it was just.
too much.
to think he was just mere inches
on the other side of a wooden
barricade,
but the miles between your hearts
could suffocate you.
so you drag it.
all of your **** he'd left behind
everything that reminded him of
the two of you.
backyard.
gasoline.
gasoline everywhere.
it all began, and ends,
with the flick of a zippo.
the lighting of a cigarette.
click, light, inhale, exhale.
repeat.
drop it.
run.

The cold of the winter reminds me of your Arctic touch, your tundra heart.
It reminds me of nights spent on floors, with you or because of you, I was never sure.
Because even when you were by my side, you were somewhere else, always talking about someone else.
Left me always wishing I was someone else.
And ever since, I can't find a home in this skin.
I let your poison sink in and it weighs me down like anchors.

i swear i'll give you everything
i can and hold nothing back.
not anymore, not ever again.
i'll make you the happiest
you'll ever be, or
i'll die trying.
this is to loving,
blindly, even after your
eyes have been opened.
this is to being silly and
laughing your stomach sore
for days, with you by my side.
this is to me giving you my hand,
switching ring for ring
until we find the right fit.
this is me, and you,
and living and loving to the fullest.
being everything we can be,
together.

i could taste the hesitation on her lips.
i held her so soft,
kissed her so quietly.
the silence was heavy,
save for the shifting of our bodies
and the moans that slipped past our lips.
sometimes we're in so far over our heads
that we'll never find which is the real way out.
"the past is destined to repeat itself,"
i tell her.
"that only means that the leaves will die,
and you will leave again."
i shake my head,
but how can you promise someone forever
when it's just for tonight?
i tell her i love her
but we both know it isn't true.
anything to increase the body heat,
anything to melt the icy walls.
she'd never understand my
parasitic need for her.
just to hold her, just for tonight.
to taste something more than bland food
and smell more than the insides
of the four walls i see
every ******* morning.
i know she wonders why i come and go,
and i know she wonders why i chose her.
even those questions i can't answer.
whether it's those green eyes
or that crooked smile,
or just because i know she'll come back.
either way i'm sweating above her,
wondering if i should kiss her or
choke her.
poor pitiful thing,
sometimes i just want to put her out of her misery.
but for now,
we share the night
and the sighs
and the misery.

i want to feel your bones splinter
beneath my knuckles,
to feel the skeleton give way beneath my fingertips

i want to sear the flesh
of your skin with my own

i want to sink my teeth
into your shoulder
and your back
and your thighs

i want you to feel the pain i feel
i want you to hurt like me

i want your heart to break into
splinters and fragments,
i want to grind it into dust

so maybe,
just maybe,
you'll get to taste the bitterness you left in my mouth.

but most of all,
above everything,
i don't want any of that.
i don't want to hurt you at all.

no, they don't speak a word. not here.
lips press to thighs;
tongues, slick with anticipation, know their way around this room.
their language is caught in the throats they bite,
choked back by the hands
that dig their tracks next to the spine.
they're somewhere between a first kiss and a last ****,
suspended but somehow tethered in a web of lust and lies.
their emotional open wounds or their physical caverns,
no one is quite sure what needs to be filled more.
skin is pressed so tightly to skin that the sweat can't drip; they just slide.
'laced fingers and foreheads pressed together,
there's no room for honesty. not here.

the church bell rang.
and that's when she saw it.
her tree was gone.
it rang again.
her loss was accompanied by a rush of silence.
only distant sounds of traffic.
a train.
accompanied again by a rush of memories.
one kiss, another's laugh.
fitting perfectly into the trunk,
feeling more comfort than ever before.
her heart inside of the tree's.

and she was left with nothing.

i want to tell you that I never think of you
and that my love for you has faded with the years,
but my head and my heart travel more than I do lately
and they're always going home to you.

one day you'll learn how to place your fingertips in all the right places.
to be able to smile and whisper to them and say words
that maybe your heart doesn't mean,
but it just rolls off the tongue.
you'll learn to hurt others, rather than them hurting you.
or worse, you hurting yourself.
you'll learn to touch up the bleeding mascara before
applying the lipstick you'll stain him with.
you'll learn, dear.
you'll learn.

i spend so much time biting my tongue
to keep from saying all the things i want to say
that i taste blood
every time i hear your name.

i'm so ******* scared of what you think about me now.
i spent so much time fine-tuning all these broken pieces
to meld into something you might approve of.
i was so scared to do it for myself.

i don't think i could even hold a conversation with you now.
i'm so different from the girl you said you fell in love with,
and even more different than the one i
became when i was with you.

and i know i never should have conformed.
i know i never should have bent over backwards
for someone that would eventually break me down.
but i did, anyways.

and it leaves me questioning my moves six months later.
it still nags at the back of my mind like a reaper ready to strike.
and i know i should be living for myself,
but you still haunt my thoughts with that ghost you left behind.

When I met you,
your kisses were as sweet as the
summer honey dripping
from the trees and flowers.

You were sticky with sweat,
working too hard to make the moves
you thought would
coerce me into your bed.

When I finally gave it to you,
your autumn hands grew hungry.
I don't know if the leaves falling
made you think you were running out of time
but your fingers became quick and greedy.

You peeled away my petals one by one,
and as you plucked me to my core
I heard you mutter under your breath,
"I love you, I love you not"

You picked me clean,
stripped the flesh from my bones
and left me to freeze in winter air.

When I finally threatened to leave,
you came back swinging,
I mean screaming,
words hurling through the space between us
but I think this time the distance was
finally enough to keep me safe.

When you started giving up,
you left me with nothing but a cheap bunch of flowers,
bought with whatever change was in your pocket.
But it was springtime and
I didn't need your flowers anymore.

the best part of you spitting the same words
to other girls that you said to me is that
i know what to expect.
i can read your moves.
i can see right through you.
right through your every move.
and the best part of you
moving on is that maybe one of those girls
will break you to pieces.
worse than i did.

but baby, who are we trying to fool?
if we believed in that, we'd only be kidding ourselves.

last week a man took my picture,
his grin stretched ear to ear.
i glanced over and mirrored with
a smile like cheshire cats,
and he took another.
i wonder what brought him
to our table,
to me.

last week a man drew my picture,
his mouth set rigid in focus.
i noticed his anonymous glances
but i carried on my way,
not knowing who the girl his pen
was putting on paper was.
it wasn't until i passed
and they told me our bangs
were the same and she
wore glasses like mine
that i recognized her.
me.

there's something about strangers
anonymously immortalizing you
in art that makes you realize
how empty your eyes are.

There's been an ache
in my hands since
I left you, because
you always knew
the spots to touch
but not hold.

did you honestly believe that?
that one day,
you might get to learn how i
feel
and taste?
and what i sound like when i cry?
how it feels to hold more than just my pillow?
you're more of a ******* idiot than i thought,
baby.
you were always the one to be silly;
i never knew to take you seriously.
sorry, darling.
i've moved away, i've moved on.
i suggest you do the same.

i mentioned your name to your mom for the first time since it happened.
i know it made her sad,
but things need to be said.
she will never run from this.
not successfully.
she will always be left picking your brain off the walls,
off the ceiling, out of the carpet.
fragments of your skull left shattered in her hands,
like the rest of her life.
i think the amount of red in that room drained her life of color from then on.
she could move a thousand times and never leave that home.
i could say this a thousand times but you'd never hear it.
some things are pointless, especially after time.  
i hope you never realize what it's like to get a group of your family to clean up after your messes,
even after death.

the whole county goes quiet on those nights that you are away,
and i can’t say much for it myself but
i know that every minute you spend away from my side
feels like an eternity stretched and
endlessly dragging on.

and as we skim the rights and wrongs on the edges of the city,
we find ourselves stepping in puddles
of blues and greens, almost like the whole world is
just beneath our feet and we are
somewhere at the top.

they say you can't fall in love in just one summer,
but you can
Fall.
they say in winter, everything dies,
but does that include
heart strings?
they say in spring, it is all renewed.
but can you make it to a
year?
they say you have three months until it expires,
but what if you simply
refuse?
they say hearts can't live forever,
but i'll prove them all wrong
with you.
they say there's a heaven and hell,
but i'd die just to wake in the nothingness
by your side.

You were my first love, full of innocence and rookie mistakes.
We spent our days walking miles in that Southern summer heat,
climbing magnolia trees and drinking your dad's sweet tea.
Your skin, it tasted like sunshine and smelled like fresh cut grass
when we lost track of time in his hammock by the lake.
We spent our nights hiding in your bedroom, and you played
Spanish songs on your guitar while I laid on the rug on your floor.
It was there that I asked you to touch me, the windows dripping with humidity.
You taught me about passion, love so fierce that it keeps you up at night fighting.
How bodies dripping with sweat can leave you feeling burned.
How it can all end in a blaze of fire, with nothing but the taste of ash in your mouth.
We did that dance for six years, coming back and falling apart once again.
On one of the last nights, you sang songs against my lips while I
swam in the amber pools of your eyes, eyes so deep I nearly drowned in them.
When we met again, the tension was so thick, you could choke on it.
And you took your shot one last time but I couldn't stand to be your target anymore.

i wanted to tell you that i loved you. really, i did.
i wanted to tell you that, when i looked at you, i choked on the words and promises i couldn't self-induce myself to *****.
i wanted to tell you that the curve of your guitar under your hands made me question if you would hold my body the same.
i wanted to tell you that you're the only one that made me smell like summertime.
i wanted to tell you that things were going wrong, i swear.
i wanted to tell you that i started to drown those words because you made me not want to say them anymore.
i wanted to tell you that i did not kiss that boy and i did not **** the other.
i wanted to tell you that i didn't move on, i found someone to find my corpse.
i wanted to tell you that i fell in love with him purely by accident.

i want you to know that you're the one who let this go.
i want you to know that i said those words; you're the one that took them back.
i want you to know that sometimes words cannot be erased from hearts, even if you erased it from your walls.
i want you to know that you were not the only one, and sometimes i am sorry for that.
i want you to know that you're trying too hard to forget me, that you're only making this worse.
i want you to know that you were a "failed attempt i never could forget," but a failed attempt all the same.
i want you to know that i probably think about this more than you do, but i feel less than you ever did.
i want you to know that i did more with him than i'll ever admit, and i don't regret that in the slightest. i gave him everything you didn't want.
i want you to know that he never found my corpse, but he saved me all the same.

i want to run away
more than words could say
but i'm afraid
my wings
are clipped.

don't cry, don't cry.
it'll all get better someday.

i can feel the end whispering in my ear,
but it's better than all the sweet nothings you left me with.

you left me sore and aching,
and i don't know if my body
or my heart hurt more.
but i don't want it to stop.
these marks may fade
but you,
you, i'll hold onto.

i still remember the way that
i felt when i realized you were
just another name on a long list
of those that came before you,
the ones that meant more to me
than you ever could

it's that time of year, where the fall
of the leaves reminds me of how
easily i slipped into your habits
and found a home in the space
between your fingers.

i never felt safe with you but
hindsight has a way of making
me forget about that.

i just remember the comfort
i felt when you'd say my name
or sing all of your songs to me,
not the choking phone calls i'd
receive in the dead of night.

stability tastes sweeter than
your skin but time has a
tendency to make you
crave what you've gone without.