The poet inside of me,
wants to believe,
he could love me.

For when he whispered in my ear,
I couldn't dare stop the tug of my lips.

But, I had to remind myself
he's just a friend.

I may think, write, explore
yet, love for me
is nothing my pen or paper,
can create.

downing every burning sip of straight black coffee as if every scorching taste could smother the unkept pieces of yourself you didn't bother picking up once you decided being with me was worse than being alone, at least that's what I thought until I saw her lips pursed down veins that only bled for me at one point but God knows each blue line to hell is simmering while every muscle in me just hit below freezing and to this day I can feel your hands beckoning to the curves on my hips pulling me closer without even pulling yet I still wake up screaming your name into my pillows and for some reason her tears are all that's stained on my sheets anymore, you took every whole piece of me and broke me down into something I could've never been and now parts of her just keep flooding out.

Self dependence is harder than I thought

Love. *Hate. Four Letters
Cake* has four letters as well
I love it. Do you?