I love it when I get to be close to you
I don't mind it, just the opposite, actually
you are petite, and cute, and beautiful, and no matter what size you were I'd still love you the same

I love the butterflies I get every time you hold my hand
please don't mind my scars either, or my weird veins that stick out so much for some reason
or my ****** up nails
or the sweat that forms on my hands because of our body heat that's trapped underneath your dad's fuzzy blanket you stole

I love your tinted-teal blonde hair
you could do your hair in any way and you would still be the prettiest thing I saw all day
and I love your fading hair, because it contrasts with my smile that never fades when I'm with you

I am fascinated by you, your eyes, your skin, and your heart
All I wanna say when I'm with you is "*******, you're amazing"
and I will never touch anything you don't want me to, but don't worry about your stomach or legs, all I worry about is your eyes, because they **** me into their hold like the tv shows you love to watch
I have a hypothesis that you have your own gravitational pull despite how small you are

Kissing you is a gift, God I'm really thankful for that
you should know you're great at this, you're making me so happy
maybe if I didn't like kissing your lips so much I would actually care how chapped they may be

God, I really freaking love you.
You have every chance of me loving you back, and I do.
So believe it, beautiful.
I love you with all of my heart.

I'm being faithful to nothing,
to a memory,
to the ghost of what we never had.
But letting someone else sleep under these sheets,
hold me like you did,
feels like betrayal.
So I rather go to bed alone,
       cover my body with your shirt,
                and if I try hard enough I can still smell you in it,
than let anyone else erase with their touch the prints of your hands.

I CAN'T WRITE ABOUT YOU
BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T
BROKEN MY HEART YET
AND THE ONLY INK I USE
IS MY OWN BLOOD

If love is an artform
We were the artists
A turkey is done
An artist is finished
Final like chloroform
That is, not very
But I am done with you
Am I really done
Short answer: no

The long answer is
I'll never be done
Not with you nor
With my art
I'll always drift
Back to you but the
Thing is you'll just
Drift right along

So no, done is not
The word for
You and I for
You are done
With me but I am
Finished with you

If you knew how your actions
Are like dagger blades ******
Into the deepest parts of my soul,
Would it matter to you
To pull them out and tend the wounds
They leave behind?

Or would you turn
*Yet another blind eye?

I control our conversations,
If I can call them that at all.
I phone to hear your voice,
But with short sentences,
My heart falls.