Today is the third time in a row that I had to substitute the tyre bands of my car for rushing pass red lights for you, leaving a screeching sound behind to hang in the balance, while you were pertaining your carnality in front of him right in time before I'd get to your house.
The anticipation, all the doubt, I knew it had to be lurking in the crooks and spaces for a reason.
I was too concerned about your topsy-turvy than I was about my own turmoil, that I am now stuck with screeches (harder than the sound of my car wheels piercing over the tar road) inside of my head crying out your name in highlighting rhythms.
Everytime you wrapped your arms around my neck, it felt as soft as my favourite woollen scarf, but differed from my scent; Yes, it was his body spray diffusing through my nostrils in waves.
I don't know how you managed to latch these locks to my eyes,
I don't know how I couldn't manage to look pass your facade.
The other day still, we met not face to face, but eye to eye in the grocery store, and you walk right pass me.
I don't understand how someone I used to know so well, are now just a strager to me.

I gave you a knife and a feather,
Watch you stab yourself to death,
Or burst into spouts of laughter.
You chose the odds, now all I have left are burried memories and a gravestone to bring flowers to.

Her house is always a cloud of smoke,
And my heart is always her cigarette, her hands the lighter.
She lights me up,
Then throw me away only to peel me off at the bottom of her heels.

An inflating reverie,
An nostalgic memory,
A far reaching boulevard,
lingering to debacle from
my stumbling and unsteady feet.

The days are long,
But the nights could be longer.
The moon hasn't cast a single fortune smile on me,
But it is nothing there but for the grace of the sun, that I take a trip back to the
             Memory lane.

I hope you miss me as much as I do
I hope you don't go to bed with quivering hands or a distraction to keep your bed warm, or that the only onomatopoeia that remains in your house are empty bottles of alcohol clashing against each other harder than you clash your wrist over the scattering pieces of mirror that still remains on your bathroom wall.
The one you out-layed with your bare knuckles because you're tired of watching your soul bleeding in prepetuum at night.

I know the colour of crimson still remains throughout the dimness, and that the sun never sees you bleeding.
Your fragileness wilts quicker at night time than it does at daytime, and I know the moon laughs at your woe and misery.
It's been months, but I still feel obstacles stuck between my teeth and a wire wrapped around my tongue.
I feel my oralability whisking up into the lusterless sky, and the moon exchanges a hint of death and accomplishment.
Droplets of warm venom streams smoothly down my cheeks, because I remember how you haven't been crying warm tears on my shoulder in a very long time,
And it is no wonder I shiver myself to sleep every night I close my eyes.

See, we're from two completely different scenario's,
You and I.
You engage your suffery into more pain than you're likely to feel, and I allow myself to remember.
The warm, summer nights filled with love and stars.
The nights where I got hom with the light to the porch still glowing brighter than your flaunty appearance I'd acquaint myself with once I step over the treshold
When watching your yellow sundress fluttering in the open wind wasn't as bad as whirling droplets of blood spattering against my mirror reminding me of how you're bleeding from the
Outside,
And I'm bleeding from the
Inside
When we were happy,
        do you remember?