I want that easy, slow-dancing-in-the-kitchen kind of love—
something so free and so simply performed,
sunsets envy how naturally it settles in for the night.

I doubt
material wealth
means anything
in the afterlife
on the off chance
that I'm wrong
bury me
with my books
and my plastic owl.

My heart doesn't beat.
It slams against my ribcage.
I picture my heart exploding
in my chest, nothing but
blood and shrapnel. Sweat
washes over me like a salty ocean wave
and if my heart doesn't explode first,
surely I will drown.
I try to swallow oxygen but
I choke on it! I try to drink water but
I choke on it! I can't breathe!
I can't breathe! I can't remember how
to be a human anymore.

i am dying to know if you still have the tiniest bit of feelings for her;
so i can finally live
to tell the tale
of "the girl who loved a boy"
wait no –
**"the girl who loved a boy who loved another"