i want to cry so bad.
as proof that i’m still here,
or evidence of any ability to feel left in my soul.
but i can’t.
trust me i try my hardest,
i put on our song,
and watch our show,
and read the last letter you ever sent.
but nothing works.

it’s funny because when i was a kid,
everyone called me a crybaby.
at every inconvenience,
you could find me in tears.
i miss that me,
the one that cried,
the one that felt.

A river runs red
From my knuckles into the sink.
As I stand there,
Hands dripping.
Washing the evidence of loving you,
Scrubbing the remembrance of the flesh.
Draining into pipes are memories of bodies together,
And mouths full of lies.

Have you ever liked someone so much you regret meeting them?

maybe some types of chaos do not have to make sense or unveil some semblance of an epiphany. some types of chaos, you just have to feel. some types of chaos, you just have to lie through.

In the deep corners of 3am,
I find her.

You deserve someone who can look pain in the eye — an insignia of heartbreak with your name written all over it; your trembling sighs — like rust, lingering over their rosegold lips, and still, not forget that they love you.