O, You,
who stole my heart so long ago...
Where are you now?
I need you more than ever.
Maybe if we stay up together I'll forget
what makes me tremble at night,
and you can finally say
that someone got you something
for your birthday...

Today I found a sense of peace within myself,
and it made me uncomfortable.
This isn't to say I didn't see it coming,
but,
if that storm was my vacation, then I hated summer break.

I don't know what to do with anyone anymore-
not excluding myself, of course-
and you are certainly no exception.
I feel no pang when I see you with her, and why should I?
Have her, if you want. I have another, anyway, and it took me too long to realize
what I would really be giving up
if I tried to chase down another lost cause.

Maybe we're following each other, but I am officially clearing my scent
and leaving myself blind to you.
We will not remain,
but maybe you and me can work out a way not to fall apart.

She doesn't know how to make you happy.
She doesn't have the ability to wrap her arms around you and whisper in your young ears that old women are strangers.
She doesn't know how to kiss your tears away because the ocean terrifies her and you taste like saltwater when you bask in the sun.
She doesn't want to watch you suffocate but it's hard to let you breathe when she needs oxygen, too.
You are sunlight and glory and an inescapable breeze in winter but to her you are fragile and have broken too many times and she's running out of super glue.

Maybe this doesn't make any sense, but neither does her head
neither do you and neither does she
cause you aren't a single thing she knows what to do with
yet she can't find it in her to let you go.

She is a saint bred by Lucifer.
She is a fortress in a hurricane.
She is a flashlight in a blackout.

How does she disappoint everyone else
when she is everything but failure to me?

She is the reason I clench my fists-
another wave crashing against
an already broken ship.
Something held so fondly in the hands of
an ignorant little child
torn to pieces by belligerent claws
worn so elegantly by an otherwise
hideous temptress.

Oh, how you hate me.

It's the weight on my shoulders that has me writing tonight,
and the way that you look at me
with heavy-lidded eyes and half-curved lips
makes me feel as though
you put the pressure there yourself
and are waiting for me to fall.
I've crumpled to the floor too much to appreciate anything but the pain of this drawn-out seduction
and I have never wanted more than to touch someone's frown with my smile.

But that would be a lie.

Tonight I want to be one with myself
and admire the storms above me with a newly found solace,
but it is hard to look yourself in the eye
and mention that a broken glass
is still worth drinking from.