She danced circles around me,
with that keen smile that
she only
seemed to have
when we were
saying
goodbye.
I was once told to only write
whenever
I was feeling inspired,
& ever since her
presence has faded
& there are no more
clichés left in this world to
write about,
i've found myself
running;
whether it's from
the road
or
the sun
or
the memories;
I just can't bring myself
to make the
tires stop rolling
& my feet stop
aching.
I can feel the fear
sweating out
of my
pores
& the regret
screaming for me
to stop
screaming
so loudly.
It took me weeks to figure
out exactly
why I couldn't feel
my arms every morning
while waking up
& I think it's because
they never truly
let go of
her body.
If my arms can't
have their
sanity
back,
then I would at least
appreciate mine
again.
It's hard to
write a poem when
you forgot
all of your pens
back at home.
It's hard
to
call anything a
home anymore
without being reminded
that mine had
two
legs
&
a
heartbeat
that were always
one step,
one beat,
one heartbreak,
ahead of me.
& for everyone
that has
said "you can't make homes
out of human beings" has
obviously
never found the
kind of
comforting
warmth that
only a fireplace
& her smile can
create; except
fire could
never put me
in the hospital as
quickly
& her
glance
was enough
to get fire trucks
racing to
the scene.
I realize why
the term
"love" is used
so lightly nowadays;
it's because no
one that has
truly experienced it
has ever lived
to
tell the tale.

Has the nighttime ruined you yet?
Has your blood went bad from the lack of ice that their heart used to provide for you?
Have you come to realize "what could have been"?
Have you found what you've been chasing?
Do you think you ever will?
Do you think you actually want to?
Have you gotten everything off of your chest yet?
Do you think you've been holding back out of your own fear of failure?
Have you died during their stories & suffocated in their moments of clarity yet?
Has the daytime ruined you yet?
How many times have you told them that you are in love with them?
How many times have you wanted to tell them?
How many times have you wished you were still in love with them?
How many times have you wished that they were still in love with you?
How many times has the image of them arrived in your mind while reading this?
(Why didn't you write this?)
Where were you the first time you realized that you were meant to sink only into their ocean of a bloodstream?
Has life ruined you yet?
How many times have you wished they would have stayed?
How many times have you cried over someone that has only known what dry eyes feel like?
Are you scared?
Are you okay with knowing that you are not okay?
Would you do it all over again?
Could you do it all over again?
Has love ruined you yet?

She always loved her phone more than my eyes, & the cashier's flirtatious remarks made her feel more loved than my poems ever could.
"It's not enough to simply be loved by someone these days" I would always try to spit out to her, but involuntarily never having the courage to.
I never thought someone could lose interest so quickly for someone that they loved, but nowadays we're only taught that looks are the only important thing to worry about & if someone actually has depth to them, you'll just end up drowning.
I'm sorry I never taught you how to swim.
I'm sorry I peer pressured you into jumping in too soon.
Once the fatigue of drowning fades away, all you are left with is the uncontrollable urge to stay dry.
Never again did she look me in the eyes.
Not once did she ever wonder why I loved her so badly; maybe she thought it was because of her good looks.
Her fingers always cringed at the thought of me & for that I have never come up from the depth of her ocean, that I have so forcefully made myself forget how to swim in.