The heartbroken always become the heartbreakers. If you don't agree, spend the night with me.

At first I wanted to be the only one you wanted, now I just want to be the only person who doesn't want you.
I used to think about the way you kissed me before we fell asleep, now I just think about the way you left me before I drift off.
I used to laugh at your corny jokes. Now I just laugh at everything I hear about you because the only thing that's funny is the concept of what we were.
All my best friends became yours and now I'm out of the picture all together. I guess I am used to that.
I regret kissing you that night, because then maybe I would still have my friend instead of resentment.

Dear Dad,
This is my first letter I've ever written out to you. I guess words run through my head everyday of all the things I wish I could scream at you. I don't know you. You don't know me. The last image I have of you is the time you set me up on the roof and told me about reality, I didn't know what you meant at the time and I still don't. I still dream about the overlook of where I was sitting and how your voice sounded when you talked passionately. Fast and sharp.
I heard your mom died, that's unfortunate. I shrugged when I heard the news because she was never really nice to me, she never talked to much at all for that matter. I remember your crazy sister also. She always had barbies and lollipops. I used to think they for me when I was younger but I know now that they weren't and she was just stuck in a childhood she never received.
It's really hard not having you around, or anyone around for that matter. Anyone who has tried to come in my life has only shown me what the strike of a hand feels and looks like compared to the fatherly image I have always wanted. I just decided to never let a man in because they all **** up. Girls do too I suppose. All relationships are ******. I like being alone anyway.
Mom talks about you sometimes and we constantly listen to your favorite songs. She misses you. I just personally hate you for picking such stupid things over me. Many people ******* do that and I only see your ******* eyes behind them. It's hard looking into the mirror because everyone says I look just like you. Act just like you. Talk just like you. *******. I hate being compared to your ******* being and you have left me with nothing.
I think after I finish writing this I will have a funeral and think of creative ways that you may have died oh-so-young, because when people ask what happened to my dad I can feel more confident about the answer "he's gone".

Sincerely,
The daughter who will never let you back in.

I tried really hard to be mad at you and blame you for the way we panned out. I did. But then I realized that you were ******* beautiful and honestly one of the greatest lessons. I don't need you and I never really needed you, I wanted you. I spent so much time breathing for you and trying to figure out why you couldn't love me but I know you did and that's why we weren't gonna work. You can never invest yourself into someone when you are dead. I'm dead and you are dead and we never had a chance to heal. You just need a chance to heal. Maybe love will never be your thing and maybe it's not real at all. Love has no definition and love can't just be spoken and it can't be acted and its not a real emotion let alone an essence. I enjoyed being with you, like physically around you and that was love when we were together. Outside of our bubble when we were home sitting on our phones writing about each other or just pretty much anything that was completely different. And maybe we weren't meant to actually be together but we were meant to teach each other. So yes. I understand now that you aren't healed and you have every right to want to be your own instead of being claimed as someone's. "You're mine" is a statement that can be so scary when everyone you ever let call you theirs completely ****** you over and left you thinking that everything ends badly so why begin it. So I get it and I thank you for giving me a chance to be vulnerable and let my walls down for once.

Dating a writer seems to be some kind of relationship goal. It seems so heavenly when you read a piece they wrote about you, but what happens when everything they ever wrote ends up in a box in the highest point of your closet because you couldn't dare to take it down. I promise you the words of loss will impact you more than the words of "love" that they promised were oh-so deep.

here's how it happens
the morning after
you reach into the drawer
where the your t-shirts live
to find it austere
you'll shrug because
you're still drunk
& you can't remember
when last it was
that you had something wet
or how long it's been
since you made the floorboards blush
or why the carpet is upset
who wouldn't be
the contents to the upended ashtray
strewn around the apartment
resemble the aftermath
of the smallest war
to ever take place in norfolk
some midnight thief
must've made off with the lighter
because it isn't in
any of your favorite spots
maybe you chucked it
along with a hundred other things
that make noise when they land
in the neighbors yard
you won't remember putting
the refrigerator's belongings
in the bathtub
or scrawling a buzzard
on the bedroom door
but then again who would
you'll pretend it's spring again
before putting on your winter coat
to go out front with a cigarette
in your mouth
you'll hope for a passing stranger
to *** a light from
or drag yourself to the corner
with couch cushion change
to buy a new lighter
and on your way
you won't bother looking back
this is just another day
on eggshells for no reason
another november
choking on birthday candles
on your way home
you step over beer cans
the kind you fell in love with
and wonder who
had the last laugh last night
or if anyone said a word at all
it might've been another
moment of clarity
it might have been some idiot savant
any adjective that feels like home
anything that keeps you thirsty

have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?

The only time I feel alright or even remotely close is with you in my arms watching the smoke from the cigarette fly around the tops of the ceiling. Both are killers, but **** would it be bliss to die like this. Can you tell me why you could quite possibly be the only reason I can stay sober right now, because lately I crave the little pink pills that make my world blurry but I'm okay right now here with you.
The only time I don't feel so ******* alone is in this big bed where we remain silent because there's absolutely nothing to say other than this is right. Maybe it isn't right but who ******* cares because I'm not cutting and I'm not downing and I'm not drinking and I'm not smoking and I'm not trying to test my life but only trying to test you.
Kiss me. Just kiss me for a second, because that is the only time that I am safe. I would compare you to something home is suppose to be but lets face it, that's nothing but screaming. I guess that's what my head does when I'm right there beside you though.
So tell me we will be alright for 3 more nights and you can go back to pretending you love him or trying to figure out what ever the **** he is even in this for.
The only time I can hold my composer is with you. Here or there it doesn't ******* matter, just with you. All I know is I don't feel like I need to reel my way to death and maybe that's something dark or maybe that's something beautiful.