it goes like this,
i said.
the singer finds the quiet one.
they run through sprinklers and
hold their breath under tunnels
and roll the windows down when
their favorite songs come on.
they drink midnight coffee
at diners meant for the old
and alone, and make pictures
across the table with packets
of sugar. together they decide
that the best word is petrichor,
the smell of dirt after it rains,
and when the lights come on
at christmastime they sit in
the trees and watch greens
and reds throw patterns
across their skin.
all of it is perfect
and none of it makes sense.

you said but what about
the singer? you said
what about her songs?

I see you sitting there
That look on your face
The look that says
"fix me. make me feel better"
If I could
I would
I would get up
walk over to you
Take your face in my hands and make it all better
But that would ruin everything
But would it
I let my mind go in circles thinking about it
To love you
or to not love you
Like a little kid picking the petals off a flower
As if that one small flower can tell
Can tell you that that person
that makes you go higher than any piece of grass
loves you or doesnt
but the tiniest fear
that the person that makes you heat up in that one spot
that no one else has even had an affect on
is what makes me sit back down
and i comfort you from a far
hoping that one day
you might give a hint that i heat that spot up for you
but i have little faith

I have an all too eager heart,
And a mind that will fall time and time again,
For what it hears the heart murmur.
In the depths of a borrowed soul
Whispers of promise and improvement
Echo around the nothingness
Carved and hollowed out there,
Forming a great crevice.
I will fall in to it.
Watch where you place your feet,
Or you may follow me down.

I'm afraid of what these hands could do,
For you or to you,
And what they might accomplish
While your back was turned,
Or your eyes closed,
Or your mind off wandering.
It's a ******* misery
That we can't be.
But what if we were?
Would my stomach still eat itself with fear,
Would my nails still pick at my skin,
Would my mind still refuse to rest?
Or would perfection reign?
Rain over both of us
Till we were soaked through
And when we shook our bodies
Water flew from even our bones.

Too many nights
were never enough
With only the stars
to call my bluff;
Making constellations
from the freckles on my face,
Waiting for the mirror
to deem me a disgrace;
Summer nights
warm and full,
Spent wishing,
waiting for the pull
From you
that never came
I learned the rules
to your stupid game;
The one that you weren't playing.

I'm used to playing alone.