that one song
that makes the geese run along
your legs and arms.

that one song
that makes your throat so resistant
the words can't climb their way
out of your heart.

that one song
that stitches the wounds
from bleeding out.

that one song
hurts like no other.

that one song
heals like no other.

why is it
that when he finally caved
i was no longer in love with
his hands,

why is it
that when he told me he loved me
i was already bored of
his words,

why is it
that when he kissed my collarbone
i didn't crave
his fingertips on my skin.

i should be in love
with this boy who
gave himself to me,
yet here i am,
giving him another excuse
to why i can't be there.

why is it
that i love the chase and
not the boy.

my thoughts have travelled the world,
refusing to stop for red lights
or remain under the speed limit
even though they know how much
recklessness can hurt someone.

the nighttime is when
they adventure the most,
exploring every alley and
empty lot of my brain.

they always seem to park
in the scariest of places,
where the gangs of memories
and broken homes of loneliness settle.

the thoughts don’t feel the pain
of a car crash though,
it is me who takes the punches
of the airbags,
it is all me.

the veiny silhouette of the trees
in front of the sky
who looks as though it was bullied
for only being baby blue,
allows the night to seep
into your soul and pick out the sadness from your bones.

we all feel how it changes,
the absence of light
does not mean the absence of feelings.

the vulnerable blackness only make you
more defenseless
up against the melancholy
of your soul,

the gloom oozing out of your pores
as if you are sweating sadness
from all of the running away.

once daylight slips behind our world,
the feelings of security hides with it
as the moon brings out the worst in you,
as if you are a werewolf.

because we all feel how it changes,
the absence of light
does not mean the absence of feelings.

i sit here
during an ungodly hour
wondering if it was right or
if i actual have feelings for a person
who stings my heart
the way the bumble bee stung
my toes when I was eight years old.

i sit here
during god’s soft cries
thinking if only i had left or
said goodbye earlier to the boy
who took my heart into his strong, veiny hands
and individually broke every piece of my blood-pumping *****,
making sure nothing was left
but the shards of my heart
that would give me splinters
throughout my hands
and arms
and chest
and lungs.

maybe if i had left or
said goodbye earlier,
then maybe i wouldn't be here
with sand bags under my eyes.

the ringing in your ear signals the arrival of
a fresh start,
the chilled silence of the dawn determines your spirit for
the hours to come,

your mind picks up your eyelids
only to welcome the morning sun
as you peer through the branches
and into the bruised sky

as you swim to the shore
and engulf your toes into the sand
your body aches to sink into the sapphire sea of your bed,
only to drown and never surface again.