trying to forget you is as pointless as pretending you care
either way it hurts too much

she said i better get some sleep
but how could i choose rest
when climbing into your bed and running my hand through your hair
was an option

When I met tragedy
She was beautiful
Like bleeding wrists
And dead daydreams

When I met tragedy
I fell in love
Her watery eyes
Her blue lips

But Soon,
She faded,
A sinking ship
A full moon
A rose's thorns in bloom

Gone was my apathy
...When I met tragedy...

She was disgusted with those
Who thought age gaps were
Gross or unsightly
She stood up for them
Emphasizing every single word
That love is something
That no one can ever control
It shouldn't be measured by
Mere numbers but instead
How true the love was
She thought about how
It wasn't unrealistic and
It was the very opposite
Because it simply showed
How genuine love can be

She comes ever closer to me.
It seems like everyday I'm gripped tighter and tighter by her Love.
And I don't mind at all.
In fact the closer she gets the happier I've been starting to become.

But still closer the day comes when I leave this town behind.
I tell her that I'll come back to see her, that we can make this work.
But sometimes I wonder if the girl I once wrote to was right.

So as she grips tighter I brace myself.
Because I know first hand.
The tighter you grip the harder it is to let go.

Growing up he and I shared so much.
But he never felt like family.
Though we are of the same blood he never felt like a brother.
But I don't resent him for that.
I made my own family of just me.
And it may sound cold, but at the end of the day I'm the only human I need.
And for now that's perfectly fine with me.

I write down my thoughts so they can breathe.
Don't mistake them for poetry.
I write to prove to myself that even on days I awake with my own blood on my hands.
I still am sane.
Or at least something similar to that.
Because if I was truly sane I would hate myself.
And I grew tired of that many months ago.

We could be those runaway kids you see on milk cartons.
Leave this town flee to somewhere warmer.
Where the grass grows green and wild and the people accept us.
But she acts like I'm joking.
And I know she would rather stay in this little town with a little family.
And live a happy stable long life.
But I've already seen too much this world has to offer.
And I don't think I can be happy with that little bit.

But that is a poem for another day.
Because today I'm still here and so is she.
And today I like to think with a little convincing she could be.
My little Runaway.