In your lips, I found the cosmos.
I found the me that loved herself,
the me that existed outside of
the melancholy songs and messy poetry on restaurant napkins.
I made my paper-home in your ribcage
but I failed to see the lit match balanced
dangerously between your calloused fingertips.

(I miss you like the moon misses the sun.)

You were sickeningly sweet,
and I was desperate to be saved.
You were everything to me.

(I was not brilliant enough.)

I was naïve in my loving.
I never thought that something so pure,
could turn so dark inside my mind.
That's the thing about me,
I pull things apart in my head
until they're mere fragmented versions of what they used to be.
We were no exception.

("I desire the things that destroy me in the end.")

The phone calls got shorter,
my heart cracked a little with each
missed encounter.
I felt myself slipping through the cracks
of your brilliant pavement.

(I am falling apart day by day.)

You didn't know how much it hurt to feel yourself
being forgotten.
You didn't know how it felt to be the television version
of a person with a broken heart.
I didn't know that fading away
felt worse than burning out.

(Will drinking cyanide **** the burning in the pit of my stomach?)

I guess now I see that you can't really save people,
all you can do is love them.

The thing about writers is that they’ll win you over with words
It’s enthralling when somebody writes about how your lips are the collision of soft pastels coming together
And how your hair is a waterfall cascading down a masterpiece
Or how your freckles are as beautiful as constellations in the sky
Or how your eyes demand truth in the slivers of honey
caught in a whirlwind of the ocean in your eyes
Isn’t it intriguing the way a writer captures you in words?
Everybody wishes to be scribbled into journals and etched into the back of somebodies mind
After all “If a writer falls in love with you, you’ll never die”
But nobody likes being in the forced silence a writer presses upon a room
Nobody likes waking up at 3am wondering why their lover is scribbling into a journal with furrowed brows
Most of all nobody wants to be loved by somebody whose pen can speak more clearly than their own lips
Being loved by a writer is endearing, yes…
But nobody actually wants to live forever in some tattered old notebook that just collects dust as years go by
Everyone wants a lover who shows as much passion through actions
As they show in their words-
Most writers can’t offer that,
and I’m afraid that’s why everyone and no one would like to be loved by a writer

If you think that
I will wait in the shadows
keeping my head down
my organs, my time
at your disposal
You are blind
In the worst kind of way

I have been the trick
up the sleeve of
dishonest players
enough to know
that darkness well
penetrating only the physical
powerless against the invisible

I refuse to be kept
as a secret, a guilty pleasure
no more will you
take me behind closed doors
pretending not to be
intoxicated in front
of your friends

You will never see
me on my knees
for your sins
Your sinister sermon
no longer whispers
in my ear
And the weight of
your demons
Has lifted from my shoulder

The mistress of your cruelty
no more,
The empire we ruled
The castle we shared
All ruins now
Tales of our torrid
love affair will be
greatly misremembered
You, wearing my crown
And I, wearing your ill repute.

If life was a day
I'd wake up kicking and screaming
opening my eyes to the world for the first time
seeing and meeting strange people
by 9am I'd be in my 20's and in my prime
but not for long before the day made me tired

By midday I would be wasting my life savings
buying a new car, holidays and fancy clothes
for I would have entered my midlife crisis
What had started out as a long day
was coming to an end quicker than I realised

The day would roll on and by late evening
I'd be a grandad, spoiling my family
spending what I had left to enjoy the time I had left
As I would struggle up the stairs
longing for my bed
the day would be nearing its end
11:59pm time for me to fall asleep
never waking up
never seeing tomorrow
That's what it would be like
If life was a day