When I see her,
The floodgates open,
And my heart closes.
I still haven’t spoken.

When you kiss her,
You smile.
I can’t help but cry;
I taste strong bile.

You hug her tight,
Her forehead against your lips.
She loves you, I can see that,
But my eyes remain fixed.

I know I should stop writing about you,
But I can’t make up my mind.
You’re taken, I realize that
But you’re perfect, your features defined.

I should look away
When you sit next to us,
But I can’t help myself.
I’ll tell you at dusk.

My words could ruin this,
And make things strange,
But I’ll give it a try,
Even if it makes me deranged.

It’ll hurt, when you say no,
And I’ll cry anyway.
And maybe, if seeing you every day is too unbearable,
I’ll fly away.

I’m not sure how you
Make me feel this way,
But it’s bad, and
I know I should hide away.

Are these tears really worth my pain?
Will I really win this game?

Stay.
A simple, four letter word.
I wish it were only that.

Stay* is almost as
Beautiful as goodbye.

The guilt
Wrenches into my stomach,
Knowing that I
Could have stopped you
From leaving.

You could have stayed,
And loved me
As much as we both wish you could.

Though, what I miss the most,
Is you laughter,
Your tears,
And your voice, most of all.

For the rest of the day,
For the rest of the year,
I don't know what to do with myself
Now that you aren't here.

people say you're fine.
hot.
****.
I believe those words do you injustice.
they're derogatory terms.

even though you aren't listening,
i'll say this:
you're beautiful;
you're handsome;
you're perfect.

even though you don't care,
one day, i'll walk up to you,
and kiss you.
but only when i have the courage.

but now, when i've been told
so many times that
you don't ******* care,
that i'm the least of your worries,
it makes me want to try harder.

ɪ

we were smoking,
when you told me.
you handed me your cigarette, and said,
try it. it won't hurt.
i knew it wouldn't, because
i had tried it before,
and had felt things much worse
than the buzz of a
cancer-stick.
after i tried it, you smiled, and told me
that you liked me,
and i thought my world was complete.
but then, i told you
about my parents,
and all hell broke loose.

i don't know
what i was thinking.

It's a fiery, grueling pain
In my legs,
In my stomach,
In my heart.

When you uttered those words,
I felt like screaming
and crying
at the same time.

I thought I knew you.
I thought I could trust you.
I guess, now,
I know that I can't.

You know that what you did was wrong;
Let's leave it at that.
All I know is
I can't forget.

I'll never go a day without
the thought of you.
Every so often,
I'll see your face.

I'll keep my head down,
And cry when I get home.
Because, even I am not
u n b r e a k a b l e .

She sits there,
Waiting, on the bench
For him to apologize,
As her tears stain the keys.

The keys tell her story;
The keys tell her life.
All of the heartbreak that she's felt,
And the crap she's gone through;
It doesn't matter
Once the piano is in her line of sight.

She waits, a day or two,
And sits, and writes,
And moans and cries,
But her wish is never granted.

He will never apologize
For what he's done.
It's a game, to him,
It's all for fun.

She doesn't know if she can cry much longer,
But she's running out of material.
Her songs are the same,
Over and over and over again.

He's gone,
And she's there.
The Musician writes
To get rid of the pain,
And to get out of the game.

i've been told that love
        is a cage binding you,
a trap held
        deep beneath your heart,
restricting your
         fragile bones,
and suddenly everything
          disappears
and suddenly everything
          is broken

and you
*don't know what hit you.

do you ever feel like
floating away?
do you ever wonder
if one touch,
one word,
one pill
could end it all?

i do, almost
every single day.

do you ever think
that it won't hurt?
do you ever tell yourself
that it will over quickly?

i used to,
and guess what?

it hurt.
a lot.
it hurt to know that i
was leaving my family.
it hurt to see the
pain in their eyes
that i had caused.

but it doesn't have to be that way.
it never does.

sometimes,* she would say, it helps to count.
I would look up at the ceiling and count all the little dots that I could find. They stared down at me and smiled, and I began to count. There were sixty four of them, and I smiled, feeling as insane as ever.
Counting calms me down, she would tell me.
I was in my English class and I looked up at the ceiling. At first I wasn't worried about what everyone else thought of me. I was in the middle of the room so I couldn't count all the panels, but I was able to reach fifty.

Counting calms me down.

she throws away
pieces of her soul,
she paints her room
a dark shade of red,
and then discovers
it was all for naught.