it’s 10:43, i miss you. so i’m smoking a cigarette.
it’s 10:44, time is going by slow. i keep thinking of  lyrics that remind me of you.
it’s 10:45, i put out my cigarette. why aren’t you here? i can’t stop thinking about you.
it’s 10:46, is it possible you miss me too?
it’s 10:47, my feelings haven’t changed.

It's not about you,
not anymore.
It's about how
I feel like a stranger
lying next to you,
on your futon on the floor
of your best friend's loft.
It's about how you say,
"No,
I cannot kiss you right now,
for my lips are dry."
It's about how
when the buildings
around us start collapsing,
you run to safety,
and forget that I'm
still asleep on the couch
It's about how
when my hair is done,
and pulled slightly to the side,
you say, "But it looks better,
the other way."
It's not about you,
or the way you walk
with confidence and charm,
or how I could gaze in your eyes,
for infinity.

It's about how
I cry when I watch
romantic French dramas,
and how I love
collecting withered flowers,
in empty alcohol bottles
It's about all the things,
you've never thought to ask
and all the days,
you've ignored the way
I have longed for you.
No,
it will never be about you,
not anymore.
This time,
it's about me.

glistening in the night
she waits impatiently.
woes and fears lurking
in every shadow.
her heart aches silently,
such a beautiful sorrow.
she is so lonely, you see,
this gorgeous, shimmering orb.
all of her desires
are unattainable, it seems.
not one soul even dares to try
and pull her down from the sky
finally filling that void
that deep longing
for a human touch.

tonight i dreamt
that you were here
and coaxed me into bed.
last night i dreamt
that you were near
not a vision in my head.
tomorrow i will dream again
of things i hope i’ll find.
but i really shouldn't play pretend
or i will loose my mind.

i can’t help
that you make me feel like a rose
on a cool afternoon.
sitting in the window
of an apartment looking over the park.
i sit there,
as a rose,
solitary and alone.
my light shades of pink
glimmering dimly in the distance.
it is as if i’m screaming,
look at me,
aren’t i pretty?
but by the time you look up
from the dusky street of the city,
my petals are withered and my bud is facing the ground.
like a heart that is broken.

him:*      if i were there, i'd be a tourist, you know.
me:       and i'd kiss you longer than i've kissed any tourist.
him:      if you kissed me, i'd be the last tourist you kissed.

The cheap gold chain
you gave me for Christmas
broke in three different places.
The Polaroids I took
during our brief love affair
are falling off my wall
one by one.
The dress I wore,
the one that makes you sweat,
sits untouched in a box
in a dark corner of my closet.
The love we shared,
or what I thought was love,
collects dust, and rots
in the hole in my chest
where you ripped out my heart.
You thought, that without your touch,
our love would stay untainted.
But that's just it,
we didn't share our love.
We didn't kindle it with care.
I kept your love in a box,
and wore it around my neck,
so that it would always be close.
But you stuck my love,
in the "everything drawer"
the one that's too messy,
and filled with past lovers.
Now, our love is
broken in three different places,
falling apart piece by piece,
stuffed in the dark corners of your mind.
Is this the untainted love
that you were looking for?