Young love.
Raging passion.
Jealous eyes.
Immature reasons.
Resentment.
Distance
Separation.
Move on.

She smiled like a fist fight,
Lips curled into an apology,
Sipping on that darkened bottle,
Wishing for the winter,
Fishing for the rain
and spitting away the sun,
Planting all the daffodils
with the sharpest of knives,
She is an island,
Lost at sea,
unaware of the times,
Smiling like a fist fight,
and a garden of knives

My love is a building
The foundation beneath it was laid carelessly
Workers smoked and drank, they were unaware and sweetly intoxicated
My love is a building decaying in rain or snow
It cannot withstand such trouble
It is a strong yet fragile house
A lovely uncouth prison, a clumsy little girl's doll house
My love is a building
It is hidden and silent like folding a sheet of tissue paper
With every winter storm, it shivers in the wind
I am sorry to my love
For not taking care of you
The wallpaper withers, falls onto your creaking wood floors
As dust gathers in the basement
Laying particles of the atmosphere over old pictures and mementos
I still have your necklace
And I will hang myself with it around my neck
From the stairwell  
Because everything else in this house
Is falling apart anyways

“I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend. The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body.
I want to know where to touch you, I want to know how to touch you. I want to know convince you to design a smile just for me. Yes, I do want to be your friend. I want to be your best friend in the entire world.”