Last night--
You just being there.
I never want you to leave.
Kind,
Strong,
Gentle,
Amazing.
I trust you,
Completely.
The only one I do.
Making me forget who I was,
You make me better than I am.
I can't give you my pain-- It would hurt you.

Of all the dark rooms I have visited in my life
There's this one which my heart,
                                     my tears;
                                     and blood;
            have built a home at
Every part of me clashes in each wall
And I can feel my consciousness fade out with the rest of the world
I bathe in my existence alone
(in the deepest secrets that flow in my veins)

            Scratches on the floor.
            Footprints on my heart.
            Wrecks from the ceiling.
            Cobwebs in my mind.

Sighs
Warm and heavy and bittersweet sighs;
The forces within are the air I breathe
It suffocates my lungs but still allows me to live
It is toxic and I like it,
                                     every
                                     single
                                     corner
                                     of it
It is an obscure, bad, bad room only my alter ego knows about
Like a cozy place for making love.
Like a perfect space for plotting crimes.

When you and I were we,
You introduced me:
Never as your girlfriend,
Never as your love,
But only by name
And when people ask who she is,
You say
"This one is special"
But she was not the one
Who had you laughing at the wind,
While you got on a knee,
And put a lifesaver ring
on her left hand.
*So who the hell was I?

She comes to me like Sunlight
and hides behind storm clouds
Her voice soft as rain
wearing a rainbow in her hair
She comes to me like Sunlight.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

Good intentions

Or, rather,

The road to hell

I am there
Now I see my mistakes

The error of my ways

And I am lost in regret

Because I caused 

Harm and injury

Where none was intended

Now I feel empty inside

And the weight of my actions

Is heavy 

Because how can I ever

Expect anyone to love me

If I tear them apart by accident?