She listens for those three words
Isn't it pathetic?
How she falls for any man who will say them to her
Whether he means it or not
You think she would start to look before she falls
But, no
She will give herself completely
To the person who shows her even the slightest endearment
So she listens
And waits for those three short words

So many lonely nights
So many lonely girls
Not enough happy days
In a lonely, lonely world
So many lonely people
Lonely girls and lonely boys
So much hollow sadness
And never any joy

Every once in a while I think of us,
and what we used to be.
Since the day I met you our relationship has confused me.

I remember the excitement,
the warmth in our first kiss.
But I also remember the pain,
and how even when we were together I could feel the loneliness.

I try to dwell on the words you say to me,
the butterflies inside,
But I can't forget your absence,
and the painful tears I cried.

Though some time has past I still get jealous,
I still wish you were someone that your not.
Sometimes I wish I could forget,
and perhaps become less distraught.

But no matter how many times I feel my heart ache,
you will always be my first.
And no amount of time will change that,
or make the clock reverse.

I can taste a nightmare
At the back of my teeth
Roaring, growling, seething
Waiting for release

I can see my noises
Quiescent and opaque
Tender and bitter
Bursting with bubbling hate

I can hear my tremble
My noiseless, hurtful shaking
My hands turning to claws
My heartbeat leaping, racing

I can smell a sleepless
Night spent in limbo
Cold sweat on my fingers
Wolf eyes in my window

I can feel so broken
And yet I feel so whole
Insanity at my tail
Like sharks in a china bowl

Sometimes I don't like what I see in the mirror.
Love handles over the jeans like grubby hands picking for the last slice of pizza.
Sometimes I don't like the words written on paper.
Words hunched over till 5am that still come scrambled as my breakfast.
Sometimes I don't like how I kiss you.
My lips not being able to move in the way your hips do in those jeans.

But...

Sometimes I can't handle love that I see for myself.
How I find every scar on my skin a Van Gogh of flesh and memory.
Sometimes Laughter can not help but shuffle its' way from my chest.
Every facebook status a Emmy award winning season of words
Sometimes I can not wait for the next day.
When I get to taste the air in my lungs only to have it taken away again by the sun.

Sometimes a love/hate relationship is good....sometimes.

I loved how it was raining.
I loved how you were here.
Or almost was. In my mind.
I wanted you to be.
But hadn’t I learned life
wouldn’t give me everything I wanted?

You would if you could but you cant.
I keep telling myself that, love.
Even if it isn’t true, the element that is
truth keeps me going. Slightly.
Because sometimes I fall. And crash.
And burn. And cry. And want
things I can’t have.

If I were to pour out my bag, myself, there would first be numerous scraps of paper, doodles and small notes. Then maybe some pieces of brightly colored cloth. There would be coins, representing all the change in my life. Miles and miles of film would fall down to the floor. Notebook upon notebook would slam on top of each other, filled with writing. Stick-on-the-ceiling-stars would fall down from the darkness inside the bag. Those are from my childhood. Caps from jars full of summer fireflies would drop down, making a ‘klink’ as they hit the ground. Socks with holes would float slowly to the landing. Pieces from board games, little Candyland men would tumble out, doing cartwheels through the air. Past trinkets and toys, a few postcards, jewelry from past generations, all things that are or were a part of my life….