there is a pink peach resting on my window sill
it is the same color as your lip gloss was

im not one to be sentimental, but i really do miss our sun-lit mornings
i miss the light blue hotel
im not romantic, but this would sound better in French.

the day i realized you were gone, was the same day i snapped the guitar strings on accident

ive learned to love these fleeting things
because this is my life, there's no way to run from it.
ive found the light in hope
or at least im attempting

one day i will stretch my arms across my peach light duvet and the sun will peek through the window and none of us will fleet.

I dreamt of travel disruption last night
and haven’t woken up since; know that though,
a whole ****** of crows hidden along
the hemline of a coat was not the
reason I was late, nor were black stamps spat
out through mirrored windows, panes unmoored from
frames in the wake of two late goodbyes: one
said at a check-in desk disguised as point
A; the second, central, wrapped around an
orbit of children where they now lay.

This news- again, it is news- is an air-
bag of ears, of interviews, listening
so we don't have to, colouring pallor
in post so the ghosts of aftermath do
not go unnoticed when we believe it
may not of have happened.

I'm going to buy out the sky right of
tragedy and skywrite,
                                     vandals of companionship are not tolerated below this message, or above.

hopefully in three years your eyes burn at the sight of me

this is how you'll find me:

ill be standing in the corner of the party
hand in hand with a pretty girl, or guy, or anyone else or none at all
ill be wearing my favorite grey button up with my calvin klein bow tie

and I won't have spent a single thought on you

you'll see me from across the room
and i bet your hands would sweat
i bet you'd ignore me and attempt to block me from your mind
not knowing that i would always be there

you succeed until i wave you over
id ask you how your life has been
with the most sincere smile on my face
you question me with your eyes
and i don't waste my time with an answer

because here's the thing,
i don't have time to waste on you
and you know im bitter
ive always been that way

but i don't want you to hate me
i want you to envy what could have been

the standard definition of anxiety is this: "a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome."

last night was one of the worst nights ive had in over a year

i was plagued with anxiety the moment i walked into my house
and it didn't seem to fade with a shower
or tea
or even my favorite killers album

unnecessary fear surged through me like fire
and when i laid my head down to sleep
my head would not stop yelling unrealistic but terrifying scenarios

mom told me to snap out of it
and i almost snapped her neck in half

anxiety is not something you can control
i don't think im being cute, and i sure as hell am not doing it for attention

anxiety is almost impossible to explain
anxiety is this:

going go the doctors office at 2pm with your stomach in knots
and nausea in the pit of your stomach
finding out that it was no big deal
and then feeling like crap for making it all about you

im tired of all of these metaphors
let me tell it to you straight

I MISS YOU
I MISS NOT CARING
I MISS HAVING SOMEONE TO CALL UPON
I THINK YOUVE FORGOTTEN ME
I CANT HIDE FROM YOU ANYMORE
YOU ARE EVERYWHERE
I DONT DESERVE A THING IVE GOT

i am so SICK and TIRED of people telling me just to COPE
i can't cope anymore when everything smells like you and tastes like you and i keep thinking that
it's a sign from you

and so many
"maybe if i was younger"s

but i can't hide a guilty heart
my black hair is matted and seems to turn grey in the light
if i hadn't done that one thing
on that one day
would i be so ******* as I am now?

can you keep a secret?
i hate hiding from you
i really do

i hope to god you didn't forget about me
because i will never forget about you
trust me, and this may not make sense
but I've never wished the worst upon you.

i want you to be the best you can be,
and gosh dang it i miss you missing me.

arent you tired of talking about me in the past tense?