The first time I wrote about you, I thought you would think it was romantic, I thought you would appreciate all the time I thought of you.
The second, I realized you weren't here for romance or flowers or kisses on the porch.
The third, I wished you were.
The forth, I settled with being an object of your torture, and sometimes play.
The fifth, I decided I was nothing with or without you.
The sixth time I wrote about you it was about the **** I told everyone else was the first time we had ***.
The seventh, I pretended that my broken rib didn't stab into my lung when I coughed up the tar that filled my lungs, I picked up habits that could never hurt me more than you.
The eighth time was when you decided I was worth your time again.
The ninth was the first time I said I loved you, and it felt like I hated you.
The tenth, I was territorial, I wanted to be the only one you abused.
The eleventh, I played with the idea of you loving me, the key word was played.
The twelfth time I wrote about you, I pretended this was a normal high school crush, not the connection to you sealed with the reddened amber keeping you close to me.

The thirteenth. The thirteenth time I had a dream where I starved you, like my fruitful forgiveness of your sins was the very nectar that fed your body, and I starved you.

The fourteenth you were kind. The only time you were ever kind to me was the fourteenth. This span of time was when I fell back in love with the man who made me forget what it even was, and felt guilt about the thirteenth.

The fifteenth. The fifteenth time I wrote about you was on Easter. I was reborn into a life of loneliness and constantly trying to get you back.
Age Fifteen was when you first hit me but sometimes I still consider fifteen my lucky number.

I heard the other day that love doesn't exist.
I was livid and spoke sour of their words,
as if 'I love you' was something I usually heard.

I sat in my bed that night
and thought about every 'I love you' I'd been missing

I thought to myself that love couldn't exist
and the last bit of your love was dripping off my skin
and that the last time you said 'I love you' was in pity and for pretend.

I sit in my desk now and write this rant-like piece,
knowing that my legs are sore
from my hips to my knees.

I think to myself that love couldn't exist,
if I cant even love myself enough to protect my own skin.

That if love existed, my heart wouldn't yearn,
even after all the nasty things I heard
that never failed to make me so sure
of the loss I had when I broke your heart.

If love didn't existed I wouldn't feel this burn
Love existed, I just couldn't be yours.

What is 'death'?
The stopping of a heart?
The loss of activity in the brain?
Just the plain disappearance of something?

Or is it the last time someone's name is spoken
from the mouth of their last lover?
Maybe it's the first time their peers
stop noticing the absence of their friend's voice.

Death is defined as:
"The termination of all biological functions that sustain a living organism."

But death is so much more than the biology involved.
It is the end of that person's thoughts, emotions, and doings.
It is the end of every relationship that person has ever had.

Death is the loss of a partner, a friend, or classmate.
It is the absence of a smile, voice, or joke that they always told.

It is a totaled car followed by an officer at the neighbor's house.
It's and old man who brings flowers to the cemetery
on every 3rd Sunday of every month.

It's the feeling you get when you no longer feel like a child
and feel the weight of the earth on your shoulders.

Death, is the loss of a little girls innocence
and the slaughtering of her pride in herself.

It's realizing that the last time you hugged your friend, partner, or mother, that it was the very last time.

Death is not just something that happens and is forgotten about.
It is something that is carried and felt.

It's something that means so much than just the organs, flesh and bones. The word itself strikes fear and discomfort in those around to hear it.

Death, is unavoidable
and whether it happens to you, or those who surround you,
it isn't something you can run from.

If anything, death is something to expect and embrace.
Death can happen at any moment to anyone, anywhere.

Whether it be an accident, a freak mishap, or a purposeful act,
Death is the end of this winding rode we drive on
and our cars are always on 'E'.

Every risky road uses more gas but in turn can help you find more.

But no car can drive forever.

I just feel empty,
But it's familiar.
I'm the one at fault
Out of your life,
Catapulted.

What I would change if I could go back,
A little less lust,
A lot more respect
But there are no more chances
No take-backs.

I'll never forget hearing you cry like that.

I'll never forget the way you you smiled.

I'll never forget you saying you hate me.

You'll move on,
Find someone to love you better,
I want, no, need you to.
One of us needs to make it out alive.
One of us must survive.

We were just caught under bad circumstance
I reassure myself
If it were a few years later
Maybe it would have been better

No promise, unbroken
No lies, spoken
No feelings, hidden
No lives, shaken

But it wasn't a few years later

What we had was now
What we had was broken
What we had was tragic

Under my faulted lips,
I gave into yours.
Under my faulted smile,
I lied about what I did.
Under my faulted hands,
I held you like it would be okay.

Under my faulted heart,
Yours was broken.

Accompanying Breaths


You've long since fallen asleep
but I can't seem to drop the call
Your breaths have remained long and deep
I feel so alone when you aren't here at all.
Your breath keeps my restless mind company
When my greatest enemy is myself.

You've long since fallen asleep
But my mind continues to race
I can't help but imagine our future,
Our lives perfectly in place.
Our bed, bathroom and kitchen decor.
The way every thing you say makes me love you more and more.

I've long since fallen asleep and I know you listened to me breathe,
But did you think about us, did you think about me?
Did you think about laying in our bed,
How I might lay my head?
Do you imagine the things I do,
Like you holding me in the early morning?
Around 1 or 2 when I'm still just as restless,
And my greatest enemy is myself?

You had me watching your mouth verbatim.
The way your lips formed the words I could hardly focus on,
because the corners of your mouth curled in a way I haven't yet seen.
Our adventitious exchanges were works of art,
painted by filthy minds,and fueled by my own flushed face.

murmurer à moi, mon cher

I'm taken aback by your quips,
and how easily they make me want you.
I'd be lying if I said that you saying my name
didn't make me think evocatively,
    of what would happen, were we ever alone.

*murmurer à moi, mon cher

Maybe its the way you walk
or the way your eyes make me think.
How you say my name,
or maybe how you make me shake.
I'm not sure how you do it,
but you're on my mind a lot
making me forget my own name,
making me lose my train of thought.

Your lips,
I favor over all the rest
but what I love most of all
is laying on your chest.
Maybe it's the way you make me feel
when all you want is a kiss.

Your kisses devour me and I lose what control I have,
giving myself to you is what my body needs.
And so I plead, and plead, and plead for you to take me,
to make me feel alive again,
to pump life into me over and over
until I am overwhelmed with the serenity of this moment.

Maybe it's when I'm walking there beside you.
Your hand grazing mine,
making sure to bump into you from time to time.
You bump right back and shoot me a grin,
wrap me up in your arms in a hug that never seems to end.
You kiss me over and over on my neck, lips, and chin
until you whisper in my ear
"I don't want this to end."

Maybe it was the way I walked, Or the way I said your name..