Black roses grow
where you once stood in my heart.
Their thorns rip me apart,
cover me in dripping, glistening blood,
but they're
more beautiful than you.

They hurt me with full intention to,
not like your ignorance.
They may **** me
but I don't care,
You beat me down this far,
now I'm way past getting up,
so I'd like to die selfishly,
more beautiful than you.

we paint a perfect picture,
a beautiful portrait of us
surrounded by flowers,
when our love's put on paper,
in a pretty little frame
hung on the wall,
like a kid's art
on the fridge door.

we're paint with our hands,
it gets messy and everywhere.
we yell and we scream,
hearts shatter and color splatters
across the room.
everything is covered in acrylics,
watercolors, oil paints.
some stains will wash out, others won't.

we paint delicate little details
afterwards,
as though a wrong brushstroke
could ruin the beauty,
ignoring the fact
that we may already have.
it's stiff and it feels wrong,
but that's the price of 'perfect'.

we paint with passion,
practically kissing the paper,
leaving the imprint of our lips,
our love, right there.
signing our names
in the bottom right corner,
as though we were really artists
making real art.

drip
     drop
drip
     drop
that's the sound of rain drops
pounding on the roof,
on the walls, on the windows.
they're knocking,
as if politely asking to come in.
drip
     drop
drip
     drop
that's the sound of tears
hitting my pillow gently.
except,
they didn't ask to leave,
politely or no.
drip
     drop
drip
     drop
the rain keeps falling,
seeping into the cracks
of my heart.
the salty tears escape me
like painfully beautiful flowers
that cannot stop growing.
drip
     drop
drip
     drop
that's the sound of sorrow,
both the sky's pain and mine
watering the flowers.
i can't stop them from growing,
so the rain and i,
we take care of them together.

I want love,
I want support and kindness and peaches
and all the sugar that comes with love.
I want to know someone’s out there
who’s got my back,
who can push me up and let me pull them up.
I want a person who can tell me
that everything will be okay
without me ever doubting them.
I want the comfort of love;
the fluttery, butterflies-in-your-stomach
feeling you get,
like when you’re laying in bed
having just up next to someone,
someone gorgeous, someone lovely.
I want love,
but I’m scared.
I’m scared to love because
what if i fall too far,
what if I drag everyone down with me?
I don’t want to be stuck somewhere
with no place to go
and no one to talk to
but the monsters in my head;
they’re not very good company.
They hand me flowers,
with a sticky-sweet note,
then startle me and pretend
that it was my fault the vase slipped
out of my hands
and shattered all over the ground.
They make me walk
on the pieces of broken glass
just for fun.
They remind me that I’m not worthy of love,
that I should just accept that and move on.
I’d rather be alone
if the other option was to have them by my side.
I’m scared to love
In case everyone leaves me
and I’m stuck,
****** and broken hearted,
with the monsters.

It's strange:
We don't talk anymore,
but I know you like no one else does.
I miss the feeling of leaning my head
in the crook of your neck,
your head laying on mine.

We never hang out anymore
but ****, we used to.
I miss seeing that I'm a little too short
for my arms to fit around your neck,
but you bend down just enough for me.

We haven't caught up in a while,
but I see you around enough
to know that miss you like hell.
I miss the feeling of your arms
around my waist,
your hands placed
gently above my hips.

I miss the feeling of my body
fitting perfectly in yours,
I miss laughing with you
about the most random things,
I miss actually knowing you,
talking with you,
I miss you.

I don’t know why
I love peaches like I do,
perhaps because they're sweet
and remind me of you.
Maybe because they’re messy
and their juice gets my hands sticky,
so I don’t forget the lingering taste.
It could be because the smell
brings me back to past summers
spent with friends just peaceful,
eating peaches and spilling tea.
Peach tea, I guess.
I don’t know why
I love peaches so readily,
Perhaps because they're tender,
and bruise just as easily as me.