I thought about the way you used to say my name and I am tired of your voice.
I am tired of the constant deafening ringing in my ears when I hear them speak of you.
I am tired like old abandoned buildings creeking, waiting to collapse.
I am tired of empty promises
And the endless calls you said
That you wouldn't forget, like how the
Elderly in the old folks home wait by the phone just to hear a second of reassurance that they haven't been forgotten about.
I'm tired of the way you say my name.

They say a persons eyes can tell a story
that's why I never looked away from yours.
I wish you could read mine
they would tell you about my admiration for you.
they would tell you to pay attention to my words
like the dozens of times where I've said "you deserve to be happy"
I meant you should be happy with me. they would tell you about all the times I've ever written anything about you and how my word
*****
has been
consistent.

The first time I saw you, you walked past me like a crack in the wall. You were as tall as a skyscraper and for a brief moment I felt rocks in my chest when your eyes made a connection with mine and strayed for a minute before you disappeared into the crowd of people. You look both ways before exchanging I love you's and as we hug goodbye I feel you scanning the empty room with your eyes as if the walls themselves had eyes and ears and mouths that could give you away. Curled up on your lap with mismatching breaths you wondered how someone who looked like they carried mountains could crumble so easily into your arms like the tornado in my mind finally came down and crashed and burned. Rubbing the tips of my fingers down your arm like reading Braille carved into your skin binding them together forming the perfect metaphor and you'll hear it playback with thoughts in your head at 4am when your head runs wild with thoughts of me. I set fire to your insides with hushed breaths between kisses planted perfectly on your lips and make you wonder how dangerous it is to play with fire when your whole body is made out of paper. You'll stare god right in the eyes and tell him if loving me was a sin then you want no place of heaven with him because of the way my lips fit perfectly on your neck is a type of paradise you'll never want to forget.