He will always be the one who got away.
He will always be the one
who occupies my thoughts
more than anyone else because
he will always be the one who got away.

He doesn't even know.
Or maybe he does and
wants me to suffer.
In that case,
I still deserved it.

Edit:
I am
still
deserving it.
Present tense because
I put him through
hell and back, and
he will always be the one that go away.

I
hope
I
was
one
of
Tina
Turner's
backup
dancers.

God here it comes again,
sneaking up on me
like a snake-*******
just waiting for
my bare, unshaved
ankles to make
their ashen presence
known.
It coils around
my neck and
my eyes pop
out of my head
one at a time.
It's done with-
his arms are
outstretched and
he's climbing the floor
for the gun
his hands still
rest on.
I turn to run down
the stairs like
I'm in the pitch black
field, running from
a monster who died
a long time ago.
What else is there to do
but fall to your knees
and ***** all the
butterflies and
chicken nuggets you can
hold?
That's where I'm left.
I'm getting off my knees,
slowly but surely,
so there's that.

We can sit and listen
to cello concerto's
for hours with no one
to bother us,
and I think her
lipstick is
one-of-a-kind.
I wish more people
wore gloves like
she did
and all this smoking
is giving me wrinkles.
I'm too young for those
I tell myself,
but the guest
who tans too much
says otherwise.
Her skin is painfully
taught and could
rip apart at
any given second.
The book was slung
off the shelf without
a moment's notice and
now it's really starting
to bleed onto the
bed we never slept in
and God ******
if I don't still sleep
in your t-shirt.
My soul is too old
for love.

Nothing stirs in my heart.
The paper sculpture was
held together with
spit and glue
gobs and gobs
of it.

Three blue candies in the morning.
One blue, one yellow, one white candy at night.
Keeps me regular

You rolled off of me
and I felt nothing.
You wanted to keep
it casual,
and I felt everything.
A simultaneous relief
and destruction in
three words.

I don't want that.

I want to be loved
unequivocally and
there is nothing
casual
about that.

The old man
laughed at everything,
even when it
was never
funny,
and his hair hadn't
been combed for weeks
or more.
With a bald head on top,
he looked like some
exotic, near-extinct
bird.
He kept poking
holes in his styrofoam
paper plate with
his fork-fixing
something probably.
He doesn't know
I'm his granddaughter.