don't ask me
how i'm doing
ask me
what i'm listening to

you didn’t set up your voicemail box like i awkwardly texted you to at 11:48pm last month (so i could leave you awkward voicemails)
and you don’t call me back this late at night
(because somehow you're still afraid that i will be asleep)
but i’ll keep one headphone out
just in case the phone rings

symptoms include:
brushing my teeth in the middle of the day
wearing my pajamas three days in a row
failing classes i understand
listening to regina spektor's old albums on repeat
wearing your flannel to sleep
talking to myself, forgetting you aren't around

fatality rate:
high

recommended:
a soft kiss on the lips at two am
as we fall asleep
talking about committing arson

you haven't answered my calls in a few days
it shouldn't mean so much
but when the phone line lay empty,
i told the trees all about you through my tears
i left out the part where i said 'i love you' first
because i still pretend it was you

the moon listened when the trees went to sleep
and i asked her if she could keep a secret
she said she could, but i know she told the stars anyway
i whispered real quiet, so the wind couldn't carry it too far away

i'd love you, even if you broke me

writing poems in the notes app
on a cracked iphone 5 that doesn't have a sim card
well past the moons rise into the sky
thinking about leaving this
dry, cracking, miserable town because i'm done
aching for rain

there's too much of you and i here
and i'll never forgive myself
for folding all those paper lotus flowers for you on valentine's day
i now know the dangers of
putting so much of yourself into something so fragile