Do you remember when the light in our eyes was brighter than the light of the stars,
when we used to tell each other reasons that we didn’t believe in god?
Tonight the clouds closed their eyes, clenched their fists, and swallowed the stars.
The older I get the less the moon stays to kiss me goodnight.
Tonight I’m praying to a rhetorical question.
I used to tell you that the silence was one of the reasons I didn’t believe.
Being friends with you has taught me that the silence is the response.
I’ve learned that my prayers are selfish.

The past few months i’ve peeled you off of me like a layer of dead skin.
I left my fragile exoskeleton on the shelf next to the questions you never asked me and the ***** you never gave.
I know all the reasons you hate me.
They’re the same reasons I hate myself;
I don’t know if that makes it hurt more or less,
but I would rather rot alone
than be pluto caught in your orbit.

My jealousy is oozing out in purple ink and sloppy cursive
because my stained lungs have finally given out.
I stopped shouting at you when I realized that
no one has ever fully heard something that weren’t ready to hear.
You only ever needed one reason to believe that the sky was empty,
Because god looked back at you in every mirror you passed.
Tonight I’m praying to a perverted question
just to prove you wrong.

Sincerely,
–if you need me i’m right where you left me

It's really the suspense that keeps me alive
curiosity pumping my blood
because if i were to go to a fortune teller today
i could **** myself tonight

troilet
by Roland Leighton
1895 ... December.1915

There's a sob on the sea

*There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Borne on night wings to me
There's a sob on the sea,
And for what could not be
The great world-heart is sighing.
There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.

I go out to dinner with a near stranger
we sit on the same side of the booth and
I think about how you're the only one who
knows how much I hate that

I drink a drink with ***** and lime and
***** and it almost makes me feel like
I know who I am when I'm with someone else

I don't think of you often but last night I did
I remembered how your arms are the
only place where I am not self-conscious

I lie next to him on my balcony and
there are a lot of stars above us but
I'm the only one who notices

he is thinking about what I look like naked and
I'm counting how many hours of sleep
I will get if he leaves before 2

there is not an absence of feeling,
just a different kind than I'm used to
he touches my hand and I smile in
a way that doesn't feel forced

I spend a day with a near stranger and realize
there is so much he does not know about me,
so much he doesn't care to

like how I got my nose pierced at 14 or
the amount of time I spend in the mirror each morning
picking myself into something I can carry only semi-confidently

he only learns I can't ride a bike when he asks if I want to
he has no idea that my blonde is shielding a deep brown or
when I got the freckle above my lip or
the inch long scar underneath my chin

he doesn't care and that's okay
when he leaves we say I miss you but
in a different way than I'm used to

it is not a pain swelling to be morphined
nor is it a pulling from the gut but instead
it is the ever temporary desire to fill the excess lonely

we say I miss you and still mean it but
it is not the missing that a body feels for
a phantom limb

I am with him now and probably will be again but
moving on doesn't mean I don't miss you
it only means I'm trying not to

just because I'm all right doesn't mean
I don't wonder how you are
I can still be happy with the existence of a quiet ache

but yes I do
miss you,
I will until the day I can sleep without having to count sheep
I will miss you even if there are no stars in the sky to remind me

I don't think of you but last night I did
the moon was too bright and
I was the only one
who noticed

How am I genuinely happy in school around the people I "supposedly" love?

But when I go home to the people that "supposedly" love me, all I want to do is cry...

stick and stones and electricity
that's what you are made of.
there is a spark, a burning to this world.
it'll hurt, when you fall. i know it will.
made you those wings myself.
try to imagine: lit match, candle flame,
bare feet in the snow.
turn your head, avert your gaze
but your hand reaches out, body leaning forward.
resistance can only last so long. i should know.
you tried, baby,
and that has to count for something, right?
sticks and stones and sparks
that's what you are made of
what you will return to
in the end, your end.
hurts to even think about
constellations flickering in and out of existence
my solemn oaths following right after.
it'll hurt when you fall
wanting to so badly despite
or maybe because.  i know. I know.
made a mistake in your creation
handed down a flaw
one of my very own
sins passed along
side by side with that ratty teddy bear.
stitched right in.
i didn't mean it. too late.
this wasn't what i wanted. too late.
you burn the way i do
you'll burn the way i do.