You're the bags under my eyes
when I stay awake until 4 am trying
to see if you'll text back or if you've
fallen asleep without realizing.

You're the smile on my face
every morning when I wake up
with you as the first thought on my mind.

You're the wind in my hair when
our song comes on the radio and
I crank it loud and belt it out as
I drive down a lonely highway.

You're a restless night and I can't sleep.
You're the sheets upon my skin as I
nuzzle up and try and forget a hard day.

So I'll write a poem for the boy that was never mine,
For the heart that was never put in my trust,
For the sweet nothings you never said,
For the heated moments we never shared.
In hopes that these fantasies in my head are banished,
In hopes I find closure for a thing that was never real,
In hopes that my mind finally rests.

I'll pack my things in the dead of night,
hop a flight,
Tell no one and disappear.

Ghost.
Hazy memory.
A girl you used to know.
Who knows where I'll go?

I might write. Pretend I miss home.
Delight in the fact that I finally got out.
Maybe I'll visit for Christmas and see what home is all about
now that I'm gone.

And I might just change my name.
Runaway
The one who got away.
The one who wasn't stuck.

But first, my grand escape to somewhere else.

Somewhere that isn't here.
And I'll find someone who isn't you.
And live a life that isn't this.

I'm not an alcoholic,
I just like to drink alone.
Thanks for the concern though.

Why can't a girl get drunk alone
at her place with that ugly
word getting tossed around?

I'm too broke to sustain an alcohol addiction anyway.
Too prissy to pump myself full of cheap liquor.
I'm a high society mess and only indulge myself on top shelf drinks and failed dreams.
Thanks for the concern though.

I'm twenty one.
I'm young.
I'm fun.
And an introvert to the core of my being.

Why can't I drink alone and watch ****** reality television
without the threat of an intervention?

People exhaust me.
Wine delights me.
People are evil.
***** is tasty.
Society is corrupt.
And tequila tastes like vacation.

Good for you man,
you've got it together.
I don't. And I hate going out
and socializing despite what my
cheerful disposition might lead you to think.

So let me drink
And mind your own **** business.

It's a "thing" Not a relationship.
   That'd be too easy, right?

Too easy to just let me know how you feel.
To just double down, grab my hand and say "I like you."
That'd be way too easy.
So it's just a "thing"

A "thing" where we hang out every day.
And you grab lunch with me.
And we text when we're bored.
And you tell me I'm pretty.

A "thing" where I listen to your problems.
And you listen to mine.
And sometimes we kiss when we're drunk.
It's a "thing"

A "thing" you won't put a label on. Despite the fact that this "thing" suddenly has BOTH our friends asking what we're doing. Are we dating? Just friends? Why don't you take this one lover?

What is this "thing" we've got going on?

Do I tell them how my heart swells when you call me babe?
Do I tell them how you love the way I tease you?
Do I tell them how I wish you were mine?
Or do I tell them it's just a "thing?"

I'm not a liar baby.
But I'll cry wolf it means you'll come to my rescue.

         Never been the damsal but you better be sure I'd play princess if it meant I could call you Charming.

I don't faint at the sight of blood
but I might fake it if it meant you'd catch me.

            I'm not scared of monsters in my closet but I'd say I was
if it meant you'd come cuddle between my sheets.

I'm not saint but I'd be your Angel if you asked me to.

                                          Never had a stable relationship but I'd try if you wanted to see it through.

Keep your feelings far from me.
I hear that ****'s contagious.
I'm not trying to catch your affection.
And I've got some serious objections
to this whole love sick diagnosis.

Doctor, Doctor. What's the deal?
How's my heart of steel?
Is it melting? Warping? Disintegrating?
Write me a script for a void of emotion,
give me a brew or a potion to cure this notion
that love exists and people aren't evil.

Pills for headaches, **** ups and ******.
Why not wannabe loners?

For the people who just wanna be dead inside again.

The ones who hate the feeling of feeling.
Emotions send them reeling.
I don't want to deal with healing.
I wanna die inside again and skip resurrection.

If emptiness is an infection I wanna sick forever.
I don't need a doctor, I need an emotional dissection.
Pick it apart and sew it up without fixing ****.
I wanna be dead again.