Talking to you is like eating oodles of noodles
With a spoon

W h a t   t h e   *******

Who says that stuff to someone when they have work the next day...

And yet its still the best **** conversation I've had in a while because everybody is fake these days and you kept **** real

while the thunder cracks,
and you blow up my phone,
text after text,
you're scared,
you want this to be over,
you wish for silence,
you don't speak a word to me,
the person right next to you.

"you can just say everything your typing"
i don't want to be a bother
"you won't"
...
maybe so
i won't risk it though

text after text
the thunder stops after 20 minutes
your shaking hands cease their fire
on the burning phone
between them

"you alright?"
yeah

you reach for my arm,
then pull back,
then reach again,
hesitate,
hesitate,
hesitate.

you grab my arm,
you don't say anything else,
you're asleep

i want to say 3 simple words
but i wouldn't want to be a bother

“HEY! This coffee tastes like it's sweetened with cat turds instead of sugar! Honey, did you put cat turds in my coffee again?”; “Yes, just a few.”; “Well, okay, but next time I would prefer sugar to sweeten my coffee instead of cat turds.”; “I'm sorry, but when you said that you wanted cat turds in your coffee I believed you.”; “I know. Sometimes I say things that I don't mean. Here's a knife. Cut my ******* off.”

it has been a year.
but on those nights where i can’t sleep,

at 1am, i remember the times we laughed and loved, lusted and joked.

at 2am, you still stroll around my thoughts, having me think of what could have been.
what hasn’t been.
what would have been.

at 3am, i have an instant replay of the time you shot my heart with a gun called “words” and tried to repair it with a bandaid named “sorry” .

at 4am, i wish to be asleep before i restart my cycle and listen to my heart shatter into a million again.