im was sick of saying sorry so i said goodbye
i love you baby boy but it’s the last time
that I give up my sleep so you can keep your pride
from this point on loving you’s a waste of time

i don’t know how to say this but my eyes are dry
maybe ive failed to see the ‘good’ in your goodbyes
its nothing against you—my heart is really shy
from this point on loving you’s a waste of time.

the worst scars are inside,
bleeding salt through bloodshot eyes
the worst scars leave tissue on your trust--
a small list of places not to cry

the worst scars are from 'forever'
whispered across 400 miles
forcing you to wonder if you could drown from a faucet
or if he ever loved your smile

the worst scars bloom from perfection
and the wish for a kiss undeserved
the worst scars spread--an infection
of lessons forcefully; painfully learned

the worst scars should be on you, my love.
they're ones that we should share.
after all these nightmares--too much
you should miss me.
you should care.

the worst scars can stay, you see
as long as in some way i have you.

the worst scars are mine, you see
as long as some fraction of 'us' was ever true.

I figured it out. 60 seconds is a long time. A broken heart is better than a hollow chest. A hundred miles is closer than a thousand. A couple hours of sleep a week is better than never waking up. It's okay to feel sad as long as you're feeling something; it's okay to be lost as long as you have some dwindling desire to be found.

I've figured it out. My heart is fragile because I hide inside my head and count the things that make me ache. My smile is hidden because because I've convinced myself that it does not belong. My happiness is fleeting because I made the mistake of putting it in someone else's hands. (I never thought that they would drop it.)

I've figured it out. My chances are bleeding because I've been afraid to trust the world, and I've been afraid to trust myself.

The 'me' inside my head and the 'me' buried in my heart is hiding from reality and she's too easily scarred by sunlight.

My heart is fragile because I've been stubborn enough to believe that it can't be anything else. I've never tested it against the glare of a happy dream, or given it a chance to pump blood instead of wishes.

There's a reason I can't breathe most nights, and there's a reason the moon reminds me of a rusted coin and a broken promise instead of an endless world a light year away.

I've figured it out. My heart is fragile because I've only ever guessed at the potential of its tormented veins.

Tormented of course by me,

myself,

and I.

so this is what it comes down to: trying to ease the ache in my chest long enough to close my eyes and keep them closed.

trying to clench my teeth hard enough to lock the screams inside my throat and the bitter words behind my wishing lips

it comes down to sore sides from soundless sobs and shortened fngernails with missing paint. it comes down to attempted, breathless explanations of my lack of sleep.

it comes down to screaming at the ceiling and letting faucet water scorch my back until it washes away any traces of your chest.

this is what it comes down to. ink in my blood and you on my mind like every day since the fireworks and that desperate kiss. it comes down to muscles pulsing with overuse and shallow breaths stinging my skin and no other way to drive away the heartache-

torn letters and empty bottles and too many love songs left on the strings of my guitar than i have patience to try and count.

this is what it comes down to. five hundred things to say and five hundred miles to go but not enough strength to make it through the night.

Too many miles
And vacant roads
Between my heart & I

Not enough stars to wish for him
In all of the night sky

There's something about the waves
That dance hand in hand, so soft and blue
That remind me of your satin eyes--
I wish i could dance with you.

And I'm not one to write sad songs
About bruised hearts or absent love
But my lips are stained by falling snow
And snow is not enough

It aches--so call it passion
Call it young and stupid--yeah
But believe me, if he was yours
You'd be just as bad

There's something about divergent winds
Sharing an endless embrace
That make me close my eyes
And fall asleep
With tear stains on my face

Cause if I could be that close to him

If we could dance as well
There'd be no need for wind or waves

Only how we felt

i wrote you a song
and i wanted it to be loud
i wanted it to be angry and piercing

and i wanted it to ring in your ears like your absence rang in mind but when i sang it

it was soft.

it was quiet and careful and i didn't mean it that way but when the words escaped my lips they fought their way into my aching fingertips (aching like the rest of me)
and it was beautiful notes that i strummed instead of dead ones.

i wrote you a song and i wanted it to be loud

i wanted it to be deafening.

because your love left me that way and it's only fair

i wrote you a song and i wanted it to be loud.

but loud things aren't as beautiful and that's all you ever were.

when she was four she tied balloons to her wrist.

they always rose, she knew. balloons always found the clouds.

she sat in the grass with her legs crossed and fastened string after plastic string to her arm, and until her hand turned blue she waited

waited to rise.

when she was ten she smashed a hold in the frozen water across the street.

water always carried people away
it ran when they couldn't run themselves
and frozen water,
she figured,
would be slower--
less harsh but it would bring her far from home all the same.

white and blue as the clouds she'd longed for,
they pulled her from the frigid water
six miles downstream

even fastened to a hospital bed with 'suicidal' harshly painted on her soul
she knew she didn't belong

when she was fifteen she joined the party,

older kids were swallowing their sorrows and threading out their despairs in a pitiful drug-induced slumber

and she watched with a syringe in her hand, as read to join them as she was to die.

she was born to die.

and so the needle in her arm and the tragedy on her breath was enough to help her rise.

and as her eyelids turned back to icy blue and her identity was wiped clean she felt a pressure against the crisscrossed skin of her wrist

and as her mind followed her heart out of the world she would have sworn it was a black balloon

that carried her to oblivion.