There's no regard for your feelings when my heart is in charge.
"You feel the same!"
It's a lie we let me live with.
I'd be okay with going into cardiac arrest over you, anyway.  

My brain thinks you're magnificent-
or perhaps horrendous...
Nonetheless, you seldom leave my mind.
I've considered purchasing another mattress
(my heart wants to know if we can share it).

I can say, very easily and without exaggeration, that every godforsaken moment I don't hear your voice or see your face is pure agony.

You think you're something special
brought up under love and protection
taught to go and be free-
but Freedom does not come without seeking a reward.
Stuck on the streets or in rough situations
nobody knows your name or story, they don't care
get your job done and go home because the world doesn't want you until you can offer it something.
It's easy to find faith in another
so similar you are
working two full time jobs a piece just to make ends meet
in the same place an (armed) man was gunned down last week.
You don't know his name or story, you don't care
you just want to get your job done and go home because you don't want the world until it's offering you something
and you've found someone to share your burdens with.

i. twilight on the mountaintop

ii. say I've got room for two in this coat
sharing warmth, but it's more than convenience

iii. does kissing ward off the cold? let's find out

vi. your cheeks look like fire but they're too soft to burn

v. I wish these gloves weren't separating our skin

Two pills later with droopy eyes,
Cinnamon aphrodisiacs,
Candles that smell like your skin when you bury your nails in my thighs and seek some greater vengeance,
Sun-kissed skin and the muscles of a lover (and a fighter,
because what is love without fighting).

Heaven in copper pools,
except I've never believed in God.

Absolutely beautiful,
coming down, elegance flowing graciously,
harmoniously.
I'm jubilant, keep leaving my noose on pretty quaint Sycamores.
Trust, under vows, with xeroflulogitis.
You.

-Zee

My hands fit to your waist,
so perfectly,
so effortlessly,
I could swear we were crafted together.

Your lips feel so good on mine, that,
when I'm feeling down,
like the world is against me
(it probably is),
just the thought of your delicate skin
gracing Abaddon with the most divine of touches
is enough to soothe the charcoal soul
of Lucifer (her)self.

Lying awake at night was so
dreadful
before you were around.
I never want to sleep because I can hear the smile
in your voice.

Sometimes, I see the stars,
and I trace the crinkles of your
beautiful eyes
in the astounding wonderland
God crafted solely for you.

God, God, I love what you do to me.

Monday,
starting the week with a kiss good morning and the scent of breakfast blend in the air.
No time for eggs, we'll settle for Eggos and Poptarts.
A hurried goodbye and meaningful promises to return soon.

Tuesday,
waking up late,
****,
going in in a rush, no time for a shower,
quick kiss and we're out the door.

Wednesday,
traffic is crazy, no break today.
In a hurry to get back home.

Thursday,
leftovers again, really wanting to spend all day together,
only cuddling close at night.

Friday,
longer with the promise of an enjoyable presence tonight.
A romantic comedy, maybe,
some homemade spaghetti and a glass of wine,
relaxing into each other's curves late into the evening.

Saturday,
No time to rest, so many plans been made,
maybe dropping by IHOP and laughing at the complicated orders.
Hanging with family or friends, visiting the city,
coming home and getting warm, playing games and feeding the cats.
Gentle teasing making the night right.

Sunday,
Brushing the hair out of your face and laughing because we woke up at noon.
Making a big breakfast because we'll feed ourselves and our friends, assuming we ever leave the house.
Spending most of the day lazing around and watching cheesy horror movies, yelling at the protagonists for being stupid, making a big dinner to last us the week
and accidentally saying "good morning" instead of "goodnight" because it's past our bedtime and we're closer to the weekend.

A life of love,
because we have each other.

So easily do you cry out as the victim
that you seldom remember you are also a criminal.

I have no further desire to pity you.
Stand up, dust yourself off,
lift your chin and wear your mistakes as a sheath
guarding your penetrating lackluster sword.
I won't stop you from making a fool of yourself,
but I have every problem with you trying to make a fool of me.
Why don't you stand up
and wipe the false tears from your eyes?
No one believes you anymore,
even if they stopped trusting me long ago.
They don't care.
They aren't going to care.

So why don't you stop pretending,
and draw your white flag,
and surrender to the truth
you've known all along?

In the end, I have learned one thing:
Do not give your soul to a single (non)living being,
or,
do not expect to survive when that being is gone.
I warped my mind into believing that you (and I) were forever
and I am acknowledging that there is no such thing as a soul mate,
just a disappointment.

She makes me laugh in the way nobody else can.
She makes me smile in a world full of familiar frowns and furrowed brows.
She makes me roll my eyes in a way that seems too playful to be genuine.
I think she loves me,
and maybe that isn't so bad.

She makes me feel at home when I have nowhere to go.
She keeps me warm when even my fortress of blankets stands no chance against the cold.
She makes me sigh in such a way that even I can't tell what emotion I'm feeling.
I know she loves me,
and maybe that isn't so bad.

theres empty spaces between your fingers that fit Oh So Perfectly with mine.
you are too easy to love, and easier to lose.
i would do it all over again.

I want to be able to express my feelings for you,
but I'm not so sure how,
nor am I sure that you care.
I lack the ability to write well when I'm not drowning in my depression.
What do I say other than "I love you?"

How can I tell you that you can be what I look forward to most?
How can I tell you that when I wake up I check my phone to see if you've messaged me?
How can I tell you that the mere thought of you is enough to make me smile and that sometimes you're all I ever want and that I hope heaven sounds like the smile in your voice when you tell me goodnight?
How can I tell you that I wouldn't be able to live without you?

Maybe I'll find a way eventually.

If I am not important to you,
then I guess I can understand ignoring me the one time we're in the same mile radius of each other
for the first time in three months
after four years of friendship.

Is it too much to ask for two more hours with you?
We didn't stay long but I can remember the way your hand fit to mine and the taste of your cheek from our rushed goodbye.
What kind of shoes do I need to wear to walk to where you are?
One day I'm going to wipe the hair from your face to reveal those gorgeous green eyes and revel in the emotions you try to tuck away.
Do you mind if I call every day to tell you how beautiful you are?
I might not always see your face, but I can never forget it when it makes my heart race more than a mile a minute.

If you told me God crafted you in Her image,
I would go to church on Sundays.

This thumping in my veins is a constant reminder that I'm alive
and, I wonder,
When did that fact start making me sad?
I've stopped wondering when my smiles are and aren't genuine
because I know a broken soul isn't worth grinning about.

I thought I'd be happy, or even sad, about his slow departure from me,
but I still don't feel a thing,
and my impenetrable armor has never made me laugh so much.
It wasn't unexpected.

You're not even leaving
and we're still not daring to breathe,
because it's impossible to look one another in the eyes
when we're too busy staring at the cracked ground.

I've pushed everyone away and it's just a matter of time before the atmosphere breaks and gravity gives up and they're all gone for good.

Sometimes I look at her and still think of home.
She ignited a spark in me and I had to stifle it:
wildfires never got me anywhere, and smoke lures the beasts.

Where do you go when you're posing for your demons?
What shadowless space is left in your head, inviting you to stay for a while?
I would think of her and they ran, still lurking but never touching, yelling from afar.
But a lack of refuel muted the engine and caused me to stutter,
things can only go so far when you're running on empty.

I learned to never regret but it's something else entirely,
walking through your home when it's empty and waiting for someone else to move in.

I am nothing (but naïve).
You are everything, and beautiful.

Someone who is worthless has no right to act happy.
You are not gracing society with any sort of compensation, so why reap what others are sewing?
A stupid sack of nothing, a waste of oxygen. Can't keep a job, can't pay your one ******* bill. Just one. One! And you can't pay it.
Can't provide for anything you say you love, but, oh, what's this? You can crack jokes? Great! That'll put gas in the car.
You were a ******* accident for a reason, I guess.
Go cry to someone who gives a ****.

When I hear your voice I can't help but smile, it's a natural reaction, we all need to embrace perfection.
I just want to hold your hand again.

I want to be the one that makes you happy;
I know I can never make your eyes light up like that.

I want to feel your body against mine, in some perfect rhythm that orchestras can only dream about;
I know that someone else will fit your mold better than I can.

I yearn to be the one to hold your hand on chilly days set in between autumn and winter;
I'm scared that you'll let go again.

I want to love you like I never had the chance to;
I remember I won't be able to break that threshold.

I want you to be mine;
I remember that I am always yours.

She is five-foot-three,
with an odd crop of brown hair
and a catlike grin
that forces her to smile when she doesn't want to.

She is fourteen (fifteen in thirty-seven- no, thirty-six days),
and makes me think that age might really be
just a number,
because she carries herself
with all the wisdom and remorse
of someone much older than me.

She is perfect
in the most imperfect of ways,
and her dry humor and quirky attitude
can keep me smiling all day.

She is everything I never asked for,
but
She is everything I've ever wanted.

Sounds specific to dying engines,
picked locks,
or waves lapping at the surface just above your head;
The feeling of the earth crumbling below you,
the tremor caused by a far-off explosion,
or the way black holes will lure anything into their grasps.
The way any noise can make you jump,
the mention of someone causing your breathing to quicken, your pupils to dilate, or your hair to stand on end.
Knowing that there's no solution.

Slice a blade down my skin, make me an easel for your release.
Stamp your feet on my chest, use my cracked ribs as a doormat.
Rip out my teeth, I'm sure they'd make great confetti at the party for my demise.
Tear apart my heart and feed it to the alley cats. Use my intestines to make dessert.
Craft from my bones an array of musical instruments to play when you remember the joyous occurrence of my death.
**** me so slowly I feel every ounce of pain so I can remember how it feels to be alive before I'm gone.

I miss the way you feel
and I want you to love me.

I miss your absence
and I want you to crave me.

I miss your presence
and I want you to kiss me.

I miss your friendship
and I want you to tell me.

I miss the way you held me
and I want you to **** me.

We found each other in the crevices of our hearts.

what do you give someone when they already (think they) have the universe?

I am not strong, nor will I ever be.
I am not pretty, or confident,
intelligent, or witty,
or even very considerate.
I can barely take care of myself.

If it makes you feel safe, though,
or keeps you alive a while longer, with a healthy smile on your face,
then I will try to be all of those things, and then some.

some people are not meant for this world,
and that's okay.

I'm sorry for the rollercoaster,
but I'm not sorry for my feelings,
and maybe we'll work out someday.

Hypocrisy is buried deep in your bones,
nestled between the promises you kept tucked into your skin
and the charm you held on your tongue.
"Don't hurt them," you said,
"Don't hurt the ones who care about you
and leave them for someone who doesn't give a ****."

Well, Lovely,
see how the tables have turned?
I suppose you figured out that 'evil' spelled backwards is 'live.'

Hold your hands in mine
Your smile lights up the sky
I think I'm in love

I remember your taste better than my own name

i want to scream from a mountain top that i am done with everything
but i am in a wasteland and there is nothing on the horizon around me and i do not have the strength to get there

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.

The day I can hold you to my chest and know you're safe is the day I'll finally be able to relax a little.

I went brick by brick to keep out the demons
but you tore them all down.

Walls aren't demolished for just anything,
and you plucked them all by hand,
one by one til we could press our hands together
and touch at the tips of our
breath.

Every time I visited you, I tried to count the windows.
You never let me finish.
I never got to start.

So maybe I expected a bit more from being exposed, some kind of compensation,
maybe I haven't got a right to be angry
( I'm not, but do I have the right? ).

Maybe I just want to see you as more than what you do.

I'm bleeding horizons into the carpet with every ideal I can't obtain.
Oxygen catching in my throat, my lungs don't want it anymore.
You left me heaving promises into thin air and holding myself up on a chair with a missing leg.
Who are you to tell me what I don't want?

I'm not scared of you. (I'm terrified.)

I can walk this earth alone and confident. (Will you catch me when I stumble?)

Tripping over my own tearstains is an accident I've grown used to,
but outsiders still think it odd...
Who would've known to be afraid of themselves?

don't take this personally,
I just don't want to go back there.
dirt and concrete never appealed to me
any more than your children's bad blood.
woe is you, though
if I try to leave for me.
clipped my wings so I'll never be free.
I'm not good at chess, but I make a good pawn.

and it's not just you, or everything that you do,
it's not that i'm never high, or that i don't appreciate drops of sunlight on cold days,
but every step is fighting an earthquake and i'm struggling to stay on my feet
and it's too much to ask if i want to take a breath while i'm in (anyone's) space

I remember being young and thinking I was alone in the universe.
I remember being old and touching your chest and feeling your heartbeat
and knowing that I was just a dumb kid once upon a time.
I remember this chaotic cycle of desire and apathy
and how stars used to form from the heat between us.
I remember crying out in the night and getting a call back
and hearing a prayer whispered to the dark for protection over the light.
I remember me.
I remember strangers and curfews and hushed toxins and passion.
I remember youth and innocence and a grip so tight it knocked the wind out of me and pushed the word love past my lips.
I remember you.

This isn't a poem;
But it's hard not to miss some people,
when you see things that remind you of them,
when shows play that remind you of them,
when songs stream that remind you of them,
of their voice,
of how you used to be...
I wish things were the same.
Maybe they can be the same.
Maybe I should stop holding on to memories
(but they're all I have).

Part your lips and speak my name
in a whisper so quiet the dead can't even hear it
because I want to know you're mine.
Come closer and tell me you own me
so I can pull you to my body and plant a kiss to your neck
and murmur my sins into your skin
because we're both going to Hell someday.
Drag me to my knees
and make me plead for you to stay
because you're too good for any saint
and I can't possibly worship you enough.

You're my sun and I want to ******* bask in your glow
like you're the only thing there and like you're all that I see
until there really isn't anything left.

It's not even about you.

It's fire scorching everything in your path,
the way you command attention from everyone without saying a word.
It's starshine in your eyes,
how you can make the worst things sound like they've been made of velvet,
how you could snap my heart in two and convince me it was a good thing.
It's the seduction,
the growl in your throat when something you want is just within reach,
when you don't make promises and I still expect you to deliver,
but you're still a ******* god when my expectations exceed everything else.

It's about how you love,
how you could suffocate me with your two hands,
and I'd still waste my breath on you.  

It's about the way you noticed me,
how it was only for a moment,
and I'm still enamoured.

I remember being in third grade and wanting to hold her (freckled) hand.
She locked me in a bathroom on my first day of school, but we became friends anyway.
I didn't like her friends and she didn't like mine but we hung out anyway and it was time well spent because you don't talk to someone like her and continue to hate who you are.
She had dark hair that reflected the sun and curled in the wind
and she carried around a binder with a "K" on it so everyone would know how unique her name really was
(it was a very cool name).
Three months at that school and she's all I can remember.
I still wonder if she remembers me.

I can't dream when I sleep with you
because you make my mind all fuzzy.