The hurricane in me is beginning
to twist around the words you're refusing to say. And I'm so tired, selfish, sick; and I cannot begin to tell you how heavy my heart can become when you don't speak. My face is bruising under the skin as if your taciturnity is trapped there… Pushing and pulsing and beating until there is nothing left but a ****** mess of lifeless conversation. Pinched nerves and scrapes and scars are more productive than the conflict and concept of hurting alone. So, stop clicking your tongue against your teeth and take the bandage off your mouth. Silence is not for lovers.
It's on days like this I find myself missing the nosebleeds more than I ever missed you,
and it's only half true that I don't remember the heartache you laced into the white lines you so carefully carved for me. Flowers are beautiful until they are plucked. They start to wither and fade and wilt much earlier than they were meant to. Young girls are much the same, but you already knew that… And that's why the ******* was always free.
I can enter a room that
I've never been in and after inhaling, I can tell she's been there. Her smile was my favorite poem or a novel about being torn in half like she was made of paper. She doesn't worship any gods. I can tell by the way her bare feet are covered in mud and the way she sticks flowers in her hair. She's just fragments of laughter and streaks of sunlight through the trees. She's a breath in the shape of a girl- a shadow disguised as something solid. She is made of books and longings, petals and aches, stardust and memories- memories made in a bedroom that I'll never step foot in again. She took her heart and tied it to a thousand balloons and set it free hoping maybe it would float higher than any pain could ever reach.
I held the world in my hands
and with a gentle blow of a kiss, I watched it float away. Palms stretched out to the heavens whispering to a god that does not exist, I pray it leads me home.
I wake up hungry every night I spend without you.
My heart contracts like my stomach pulling deeper into itself trying to form around you. But you're not there and I am left sleepless and starving for your affection, your touch, and your heartbeat below my ear. I fear one day you'll forget that your name is tattooed on my mouth and that my hands were made to fit yours. As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel the need to tell you again… I love you.
Look at what you built and destroyed.
Like a doll behind glass, you admired and stared and stared and stared. But that was not enough. You had to touch and feel and take; and when you realized the door was locked, you broke it. I probably should have thought more than some remark about how all the glass was on the floor, but with lips made of porcelain I couldn't tell you, "Stop, you're hurting me."
Darling, you are so pure
and it seems like I lie through my teeth more than I grind them in my sleep because I simply don't want you to know that I am nothing more than skin stretched over cracking bones.