i yearn so dearly
to be intricate
and nomadic
but for now
i'm bound to this town that's gone to ****
and with these people so scared of change
while i am,
on the other hand:
*hungry for it

you and me -
we were like a train wreck waiting to happen
like watching animal planet by yourself late at night
about a lion stalking young gazelle in the sahara
and trying to turn your head
when he goes in for the ****
but you can't
you always told me,
"hey, love is pain"
but this kind of pain hurt so bad
it felt good
i liked it when you ripped my heart out
so swiftly and remorselessly
i was your conquest,
and you,
my conquerer
the lines you  told me
the last day we spoke
i now have so religiously memorized
and i play on repeat
over,
and over,
and over again
and ever since
i haven't wanted to wait for another train wreck to happen again

awoken by a hazy and golden sunrise
i stumbled
from the dewy tangled grass,
head pounding -
almost as hard as the day you left me
i found myself in the field of daisies,
(the same kind of flowers that lay withered for weeks
on my bedside table)
the fragrance pierced my consciousness and before i knew it
we were sitting on that park bench under the moon light
with tiny wild daisies in your one hand -
your other on my thigh
we never would have guessed
that i'd be half drunk a year later
on your memories in a field of ******* daisies

where were you when
you were not level headed
and the city seemed to turn to dust
where were  you when
you were drowsie eyed,
and the air was too dry to breathe
while
earthquakes
erupted  from your palms
and you shoved me in the back of  the  "junk drawer" in your mind for "future safe-keeping"
and the city so full of love
came tumbling down
and so did the drawer...
where were you when
my heart
was
in
ruins
?

I move from closet to closet, and fit my arms
into shirts too big for me. I silently wiggle into
acid stained jeans. I lie. We’re too good
at wearing other peoples’ clothes, a fact you
told me in late autumn when I asked to borrow your
coat. Oh, how I wish you told me earlier that you
were afraid of the cold, how I would've gave
you the very jacket I had stolen. But you liked
the way my clothes fit, and you liked the way
your hands slipped into my pockets, and you told me
that there was nothing more to life than the fraying
of fabric or the ripping of jeans. And so, when you
left, and you didn't say I love you, I figured it
was because my clothes stopped fitting you.