You stopped handing me your gaze, and yet your ship still sends ripples in.
I hear your love is with someone new, and I know I'm not meant for you.
I'm nothing more than a mere candle you once lit before putting in the cupboards.
We were in something like infinity and I know I didn't fight, and it's unfair
of me to put the blame on you, but why didn't you fight for me?
I wanted to know I was worth your love. I wanted to know
that everyone was wrong.
And dear, you cannot play with something as dangerous and fragile as a heart.
Your ship headed straight towards it and I never knew how in love you could look
until you came at me with those cannons. How was I supposed to know we'd end up
like this? You know I can't undo the feel of those rough hands,
I can't forget the way your lips curved in at the sound of my name.
You are destruction and I told you that as you promised
it would all be alright. I told you someone would come out broken
and I guess you know how to lie through those perfect teeth.
I needed you so close then, but not as much as I do now.
After all, I crossed that storm warning you swore was church bells.
So come back you idiot, and let me on board to your ship.
I promise I will let you and your lover tear me apart;
I just want to be near you. I just want to hear you need me one more time.
I tried every How to Get Over Him area of expertise that claimed
God Ridden results, but they lied. They lied. They Lied. I cannot get the melody
of his speech out of my ears with Q-tips or a doctor's kit. His ghost whispers songs
we used to listen to and I swear, this ghost tries to scare me too. I have swallowed two sleeping pills tonight and I wouldn't doubt myself if I ended up in a state of
unconsciousness. He is a ghost following my every move, loving me in a way I crave the visible him to love me. I wouldn't mind this one, if only his hands were warmer when they touched me and I could smell December off of his jacket too. I am an addict that has run out of magic. I am a mermaid in the desert. Maybe I was meant to last with just these material things to replace him.
The thundering in my heart is a response to your pouty clouds, and I still
wonder why no one bothered to discover the lands beneath it to this day. Under
those dark skies the town is alive and blue, blue, blue is all I see.
You are blue, yet red, yet love, yet pain. I sing to the music from your
soul and I dance to the light in your eyes. You're a melancholy soul glittered
with invincible warriors and I am just a flower in your garden. People step
on me and I still pray you will notice more than the bent petals or the crack in
my stem. I am so much more with this pounding in my heart and
the purple rain feeding my lips. I have always felt cheated until my eyes
landed on you, and I knew - I knew you were what I was willing to take this for.
But you don't like petaled people or thundering hearts and I know that.
You like dark rooms and moon kissed nights, and I feed off of the sun's kisses.
You like black holes and the idea of an abyss, and I like skin on skin. I like being
the loser in this, with rain splattered homework and puddle filled shoes. But you like
umbrellas and indoor rooms. We can try to use umbrellas and dance in the rain,
we can keep the homework in the house while we go insane.
But roses are red, and violets are blue.
To you, roses are black, and violets are black.
I will show you the colors to these flowers, because it will lead you to the
color of my soul too.
Emma talked about him like he was tattooed into her eyelids and he would not
allow her to scrub him away. I swear, he thinks everything is funny when it
makes me mad. But she still answered his texts like it was the package
she had been waiting for months now, and she still loved him like it was an
antidote for some lovesick disease. I could see the way he ate up her affection
like it was some sort of sugar high, before he crashed into another girl's bed
that had been waiting all evening for him. Last night I watched as Emma and him
kissed for the hundredth time under a dozen stars, her hands pressed around him,
before a dozen of those stars came falling down to the ground, and he
disappeared with a different girl. Last night her tears over watered the lilies I keep
in my bedroom and leaked through the floor. Last night he called and said Baby,
I wouldn't mind choosing you and I could hear a female voice in the background
like a bullet shot through the line. It traveled through her eardrums and followed the path down to her heart. Last night I told Emma she was worth more than this. Last night Emma stopped responding to his texts. Last night Emma and I went out and she
kissed another boy who danced with her like they were the only ones in the room,
and touched her like she was something better than his own existence. And last night,
Emma decided to not go home with anyone because she had an evening booked
with a new prince charming who knew how to wait for her.
There is dust in the third row of Ms. Buskee's Book Shop, accompanied
by two ghosts. These are the places we never cared to remember our happiness by.
A place where we were only happy, and never thought to keep it as a memory that
couldn't ever be turned to the bloodied fists we hold now. We are dancing here to a song from the sixties that you know the lyrics to, and I'm wearing my favorite dress.
Maybe this was why it's my favorite dress. We are in love. We are happy. These ghosts are oblivious to what we are now. They are only here to keep our old memories alive, and to keep replaying a part of us that was once angelic. They will never know, or even want to know, that we are just a stray memory no one wants to remember.
you're chugging wine at twenty-three
"i get nervous when you sit too close to me."
after a few, you touch my hand
pull me across the street, "i don't think you understand;
i don’t like the way you love,
shoulder to shoulder, i hate physical touch"
i lean on your bony arm and sigh
sinking beneath me, you’re afraid to die
i should've told you that when i come round
i like them tall, skinny, not afraid to drown
so tell me about those other girls,
was that last one your entire world?
did you float through her rivers, sail across her sea?
did she build you a boat out of your shoulder, neck and knee?
did you let her fingers run through your hair?
did you make contact besides a brown eyed stare?
well i too have a ship full of lovers,
they sing me songs, they pull me under covers
they touch my arm, my cheek, my thigh and lip
they fill the gap where you refuse to fit
i would kiss your face and let you drown
but you’d only let me if my hair were brown