Cradling snowy doves in your soft palms;
     fluttering wings and fluttering smiles.
Tip-toeing shorelines, wet grass on riverbanks;
     sun-kissed shoulders and Apollo's eyes.
Flushed skin in the shade of Pelion,
     fig juice in your cold gold hair.

I feel like there should be a funeral for people to gather and say goodbye.
Reminisce about the good old times and console one another as they cry.

They’d remember how I loved to dance and laugh; being wild and care free.  
It would be a day of celebrating the full and vibrate life of me.

But instead I’m classed as living even though part of me is dead.
They tell me how good I look but they can’t see inside my head.

The future was once mine to take, my destinations vast.
Now all I have are constant thoughts of how long this hell will last.

I am the only mourner for the girl that passed away.
For her spirit has left unnoticed whilst her body is here to stay.

It sounds the same and sometimes smiles but it is just a mask.
Trudging through each endless day and fumbling through each task.

The friend you had, the girl you loved is sadly no longer here.
That I seem to be the only one to realise has become my biggest fear.

I know that I am dead and gone but still here I seem to be.
Trying to pretend that I’m just the same old me.

Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl
Don't.
Suicide can not be romanticized and though she might idolize you
Remember that you may not be enough.
Remember that this world may never be enough.
Demons don't just go away, sometimes they just hide in the shadows.
And even at the highest noon they are there. Just smaller. The sun will go down.
She will always have shadows.
Remember that no matter what you do
You are irrelevant in her master plan.
She will plan out her letters in your arms.
When she is silent hold her. Make her know that she is loved, it may not be enough but those few moments in your arms might make her think twice.
But don't assume for one second you will be her savior.
When you see cuts on her wrists do not beg her to stop.
She won't.
She will cut deeper for letting you see her weak.
She will try to be strong.
She will put on a show for you. She will make you forget she was ever depressed.
Remember that sunsets can make you forget that night is bound to follow.
Know that night will follow.
When you get her final love letter to you
Ignore the fact that it is stained in blood.
Do not pour your precious time.into wondering if she suffered.
She will write her apologies in her best handwriting.
Do not read it.
Get in your car and drive.
Drive to the nearest bar and read the letter through hazy bloodshot eyes.
Do not blame yourself.
Do not look for moments you could have done something different.
It'll drive you crazy.
Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl.
Don't.

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

I always had a picture in my head of what I wanted
Who I'm going to fall in love with
How they act
How they think
How they look
What I had in my head is not like you
Not like you at all
I still liked you though
I actually liked you a lot
Now that I think about it, I liked you more than I planned to
More than I wanted to
You were not what I was looking for
But you hit me like a tidal wave
I don't love you but still
You fill the empty gap in my heart
That you created
And then you leave again
You seemed like you weren't interested in me
It seemed like someone was occupying that space
So I left
And I don't regret it
But I miss your touch

I spell “I love you” on the lines of your collarbone

and I always try to go from one end to another,
brushing calligraphy strokes with my tongue
and blotting your skin as a page with my lips.

I never really have finished saying it,
and I guess I never will

my motions are lost among your curves
and my lips almost always end up
meeting yours somewhere in the middle.