I'M SO ******* SICK OF WRITING ABOUT THE GIRL THAT PUT FLOWERS IN THE DARKEST PARTS OF ME.

SHE'S IN MY ******* BLOOD.

I'm scared it's because you read every single one of these and you know I love you and I can't take it back and maybe I'm just imagining it and maybe I'm doing it because I'm trying to tell you but I can't to your face so I write about it in the hope you'll see it but it's not hope exactly because if you find it then it will be bad but at least you'll know and I kind of want to just give you the link and let it be done but what if it destroys what's left of our friendship and what if you already have the link and i have to deal with the fact you've known all along and what if you hate me for it and what if you suspected and what if you care about me too? what if you care about me too?
no you don't. I'm deluding myself and I'll just have to continue because it's illogical to do anything else.

god please just come back come
back. i am ripped apart and
shredded into the tiniest pieces
and scattered on the floor. they are
so small that I don't think anyone
would be able to pick them up
even if they wanted to. I swear I
haven't slept a full night since
my fingers weren't allowed to
have yours anymore and I want
your words to be meant for me
again. when do I get to call you
mine and know you aren't going
anywhere? I don't know how to
hold all the aching in my chest
and not have it spill out of my
mouth every time you're around.
I miss your knees and your movie
collection and the way you said
my name so that it sounded like a
promise. you were always enough.

they have
become so nothing that they are everything. I
hate myself for
liking the stubble that inflames
my skin

I hate myself for caring so much about
being hurt
by them, for wanting

to show them
how bright my blood is when they turn me inside
out
and my veins show like
the splitting seams of a shirt, tagless
for more breathing room.

men are of no importance to me
so much that they have become everything. I

wait
to fall asleep in
the ocean spilling from their bodies

because I always have this desire to drown where
another girl did not want to.
I learned
there is no god, just
love addicts and the vulnerable
who piece together memories out of

salt. all

bodies are made of salt.
water, ***, I want to care so little that I love the
thought of men
breaking me open like a clam
that dies when they take the pearl out.

I am so sad
that my eyelids have begun to take the
appearance of an apricot,
sickly,
bulging, too ripe, easily bruised.

Please accept my apology
for hurting
whether or not

you love her still, whether or not there is
a mention of her consistency
between your legs –

please
think about how sorry I am for
not being cold to you
when it could save us. I have fallen in
love with
pain

because it looks like a rose's hips
and I am reminded
that she is not a flower because flowers
always die –

nothing else could make me smile
like
knowing the truth will hurt.