The world has been falling apart around me, but I can only muster the courage to lift my coffee cup. I give my belongings away to strangers because materialism is vain. Money is an object, nothing more. I’ve been burning pages of my diary, filled and blank, because the past has passed and the future is futile. I leave my soul to the stars in the hope that I will awaken among them. A cursed sigh escapes when the sun rises and my demons slip through the cracks in the wall. I do not know why I drink coffee in such a large quantity when slumber is the final escape. I have simply stopped believing.

These times are changing,
And yet I feel the same.
Sickness wracks my body,
Drugs run through my veins.
I drink coffee at three in the morning
Because I can’t tell the sunlight from the dark.
I guess I should be getting home now,
But it seems I’ve forgotten where I parked.

I do not remember love. I do not remember the way his fingertips graced my skin. I do not remember the gentility of his lips on my cheek. I do not remember the light in his Atlantic eyes. I do not remember the butterflies hatching in my stomach when he said my name. I do not remember his arms wrapped tightly around me. I do not remember the way my hands quivered so violently against him. I do not remember the tears in my eyes that night. I do not remember love.

I hope my name tastes like ash and burnt coffee in your mouth
Whenever the opportunity arises that you must speak it.
I hope my memory singes the photographs of us in your mind.
I hope you threw my letters into a bonfire in a fit of rage,
Then extinguished it with your salty, bitter tears.
I hope the sound of my voice rushes through your dreams like a wildfire,
Wakes you up in a cold sweat, gasping
For my gentle fingertips against your cheeks.
I hope the arsonist living quietly inside you
Sets fire to your veins and arteries and capillaries
Whenever you see me pass on the street.
I hope we burn for eternity,
An endless flame destined for immortality.

I have not eaten in days, but I am not hungry. I stood knee-deep in the snow just to feel something. I didn’t feel anything. I wrapped my hands around the coffee *** to feel it burn. My palms reddened and blistered but felt nothing. I wrap my bones in sweaters but I do not feel warm, nor do I feel cold. I fell in love with a stranger on the train to see if my heart could break. It cannot.

It does not run through our veins;

We see it only in our wounds.

We think of love and we find it,

Vibrant and terrifying and beautiful. 



It seems as though we see love as simply that:

An open wound
;
Spilled blood
Exposed to another’s oxygen.