I'm sorry my words get jumbled
flailing off of my tongue as if
I've just learned to speak.
they're all so calculatedly stoic,
yet so simultaneously messy
with the secrets
that slip out of my lips.
and I'm sorry that when i say
the things I'm meant to say,
they aren't the words
you want to hear.

I saw our tree in the park today
Remember the one
We carved our initials into?
It must have followed me here
Taken a train or a bus
Its branches bending, cracking, snapping
Trying to squeeze into its seat,
Travelled all the way from our park
With those lilac bushes and
Saturday morning picnics.
It must have known
That I would
Miss you.

You give me looks like electricity
blistering through our veins,
biting your lip to bite away secret smiles,
fingers grazing like fire bursting on my skin
searing the edges of my sanity.

We are a mess together,
sharing a passion so perfectly poisonous
for each other, craving that
sickly sweet venom slipping from bitten lips
with bodies drenched in stinging jealousy,
we are, quite simply,
a mess.

Falling into something so
ruthlessly reckless and endlessly entwined in a fit of
passion and hunger so pure and astounding
it has never made sense,
so raw and real and tainted.

So in a few years I’ll meet you
in the cavernous pits of hell

and kiss you
while the scorching flames

tickle our toes.