your eyes could meet mine
for only half a second

and i’d end up thinking about them
for half a century

like a sad lone comet
i wander

please pull me into
your orbit

her hands left graveyards.
over and over, she longed to
hold his heart
but only managed to barely touch
with her fingertips,
just barely within reach
each time

he didn't know what to do with all the headstones

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

forks are knives in disguise, slitting your wrist with each bite.

You're just a ghost, you're words are a ghost.
If I find you, you'll be a ghost.
Sitting on the curb in the suburbs of Iowa,
A ghost,
They'll toss trash past your head to the can,
But I'll know all the secrets they bled from your,
Hands,
I'll never hold them again,
I'll read through old messages,
And wonder why it had to be you,
If you're looking over my shoulder with your ghost eyes, know I never stopped loving you.