There's so much of me
to give away
and so much of me
you know nothing about.
I met you when I was broken
and was well aware
that I could lose myself in you.
I sat all night in your passenger seat
watching you slave away,
cleaning every inch of the blackest night,
with the darkness somehow
smelling sweeter than before
and swallowing us whole.

But I never once thought to fall asleep
because I think
I was too busy falling for you.
I was content just seeing
you hop in and out
of the driver's seat
Swimming deep in your atmosphere,
wishing your rough hands
were tracing my spine
instead of flicking switches
that were carrying us closer
and closer
to the daylight.

Sink your fingertips
deep into my chest
plucking at my heart strings
one by one,
writing a symphony
with my veins and arteries.
I wish I could write down
my words as the melody
to your saccharine lullabies
that rock me to sleep.
You could be my muse,
if I can be yours.

The breezes of spring
bellowing pitches from low to high
whipping through my tresses
that keep me warm inside,
giving movement to the rope swing out back.
A rotting apple nearby
(probably not ours)
and that bench in it's place with stories to tell,
where we spent sunsets
perched and burnt.
It all brings me back.

My eyes starting to water from smoke,
squinting through the hazy air
at the overcrowded couch - a war veteran
sitting proud in the center of the room,
holding up the unforgiving weight of teenage angst.
Visible scars,
a testament to its years served,
memories fixed with duct tape.
And I, sitting on the edge of a wooden dining room chair,
began to wonder how we all ended up in these places -
the couch, the youth,
the stains in the carpet,
the fly on the window sill
trapped between the panes,
unbothered and unnoticed.
I tipped my head back and ran my fingers
through my thinning hair,
closing my eyes to catch a glimpse
of tomorrow morning.

We were all younger
dumber
naïve
but the purest we would ever be.
Now I'm flying down 87
and I have to train my mind
not to wander without purpose
so I try to remind myself
that I've been back to those rooftops,
and I know
the air will never sink in as sweet
as when we were whole,
in years lost to the breezes of spring.

People around me communicate
in words and with fidgets
all of which I feel like
I don’t understand
and I want it all to be quiet.
I grow tired of this world around me.
It always finds ways to **** at my soul
like I owe it some kind of retribution.
I fall in love
and fall out just as quickly.

But I’m used to it –
Patience rubbed raw
from years of bad luck and disappointment
leaving me bruised and tired,
and always ready for the next bout of bad news.

I want to love you so bad,
but can I?
It’s been so long
and I’m not sure I remember how.
I know you’re tired,
showboat with all your
peddles and organs.
The years between us,
with your crooked smile from before-
when the air felt darker around me,
colored a deep shade
of midnight blue.

You’re so sweet,
sleeping in my passenger seat
and there’s makeup wiped on
my baseball cap
and I’m sore,
in so many ways.

I want peace for you,
every piece of you.
Close your heavy eyes and
peel off your layers.
Take a deep breath,
and take a sip from my
lip gloss-stained coffee cup
or sleep deeply instead
on the way
driving you home.

My words always move faster
than my fingers,
so there's usually
no way for me to describe
the feeling that rests
in the silence between songs
booming from your car stereo.
But I guess
I would call it:
empty.

The loneliest you can be
is when you're the only one
on the road
at two in the morning.
And so you scream to your songs
just to fill up the space
between you
and the rest of the world.

In the quiet moments
I think about all the things
I would have done
if I wasn't so scared,
and all the times
I did those things,
and it turned out
afterwards
I was still scared.

I don't want to die alone,
I truly don't.
Though I scoff at the human race
and use the only strength in my bones
for hatred and beg the world
to erase my every mistake -
deep down I crave the brush
of a finger on my cheek
and the blood rushing through my vessels
closest to the surface.

Hopelessly indebted to
the fleeting feeling of fluttering
the butter on a summer day,
and I bloom.
I guess I love love,
and I would take it like a drug,
I love love;
I just don't love the side effects.
If I'm thinner,
it's because I leave a piece of myself
with every person I meet,
with every place I set roots.
My love rivals the Coliseum,
larger than life and utterly broken.

So I'm always ask for two things:
someone(thing) and the billboard from god
that I can finally be done searching
and I don't have to feel so lonely
anymore.

You're always forging me,
to see how far I'll bend.
Hammering me down,
to see how low I can go.
Your heat dances close to me,
but I can't let everyone down.

Though you terrify me,
I would probably still let you cradle me
in your cast iron vice grip
and sing me to sleep,
like Louis
like Ella
crooning,
when I can't breathe.
You could reel me back in
with the promise of
creating something beautiful
and maybe not feeling so
empty and alone
all the time,
but I can't let everyone down.

Your atmosphere ***** at me
and I'm dragging my feet through your sludge,
plodding forward with my eyes cast down.
You know when my mind wanders
or when I'm filling my voids,
so you can sneak in through the cracks
and take your place in my subconscious,
but I can't let everyone down.

I try to remind myself
why your comfort isn't worth it;
like peaking out of my blinds
or chatting with insulation
(pushing me towards one last line)
or fearing the world outside
altogether.
I'm scared because I know
that you're the only thing
that has ever felt like home to me,
but I can't let everyone down.
I can't let everyone down.