He looked at me with eyes
that stabbed my chest.
                                                       "Sometimes it's not the guns,
                                                           ­                                                that **** you."
He said,
and then those eyes,
the ones that stabbed my chest,
filled with tears
                                                           ­     "Sometimes it's the goodbyes."

Torture; the mark of a beautiful woman left on your brain.
Tearing chunks out but, it is fair game.
She had conscious to steal your heart in spite of potential pain.
But all she did was use you in light of her own gain.
You stuck with her because you love her, your feelings can't be tamed.
You'd break any cage for her despite how many hearts she's slain.
In retrospect it may be that you're the one to blame.
You made so many mistakes... too many to name.
You stayed with her because she had became
The only thing that made you feel whole with nothing to gain.
But gain, that's just it. Its personal gain.
You know when you're apart, its too hard to gain
Someone who loves you who shares that pain.
And even though she didn't love you, she certainly knew pain.

There is a lifetime to hold this woe,
To process and reframe,
But never let go

And I'll visit whatever vestiges I've left,
Because you still hold my heart,
An inconceivable theft

I got to wondering the other day,
I wondered if you still have my t-shirts,
Do they still smell like me?
Do they smell like cologne, youth and regret?

I’ve gotten older, but clearly haven’t gotten smarter,
I clearly haven’t learned to avoid touching stoves
Or walking in traffic
Or poking beehives

**** your institutions,
**** your distance,
And **** your rules,
Because this heart couldn’t care less

The heart wants what the heart wants,
And what the heart wants is to **** me,
It wants to turn the clocks back,
It wants to be less of an *******,
It wants anything but this emptiness,
Anything at all but this…