I would hate to live in a world with you by my side,
    at least now I do.
Who knows? Maybe by next week I’ll feel different
    because that’s just how we are,
        how we always were.
Stability was never a part of the plan for us,
    settling wasn’t an option,
        nor was it desired.

In a perfect world, you would be mine,
    but in a perfect world, you wouldn’t exist.

The bags under my eyes tell stories,
just like the rings of a tree trunk.

One ring holds stories of a night spent with too much drinking.
Another holds a long night of loving someone who didn’t love me back.
But the deepest ones are from staying up all night,
waiting for a call
    or a text
        a letter
            or a visit.
Just so i know you cared.

But these will never go away,
because you never really did care anyway.

These hands, calloused and worn,
    they were never strong enough to stop you.
To hold you back from doing something stupid.
    to stop you from harm.

These arms, thin and bruised,
    they were wrapped around your waist.
To keep you from getting to distant.
    to keep you forever.

These eyes, bloodshot and sunken,
    have seen you at your best and worst.
Watched you create something beautiful.
    and watched you destroy yourself.

December comes around again, the snow blankets the earth in a heavenly glow.
Each day seems to get colder, and I would be so much warmer if you were still here.

There’s a familiar loneliness that comes with the season,
I always seem to forget until it’s finally here.
I’m left to resort to whiskey are cigarettes for warmth,
since you went away.

I remember when we started talking again. You dyed your hair lighter. You were happy.
      After awhile, the color started to fall out.
          So did we.

I’ve been awake for 19 hours.
And the only words that cross my mind
are that I miss you
and that you disappoint me
(more than anyone ever has)

The bags under my eyes
are growing heavier with every
tick from my watch face.
Yet all I can do is ponder
what I could’ve done right.

The scratches on my back
are nothing compared
to the ones on your wrist.
And you can’t ******* blame me for that.

It wouldn’t be your place.

Your hopes in one hand and a bottle in the other.
You drop everything just to open the cap and take another drink.
Your eyelids grow dark and the whites of your eyes turn bloodshot.
Your jaw drops as you fall deeper into despair.

You find yourself in the bed of a stranger,
     and beg for me to come get you.
I do just to hear you recall the night over the phone
      to one of your friends.
About how he was so much better,
      and how he treated you right.

I should’ve left you stranded, just like he did.