Your fingers danced
Along the strings
Producing pretty sounds
To which we'd sing
Your voice so quiet
So sweetly low
Hummed in my ears
I loved it so
The smell of the fire
Hung in the air
We sung the night away
Without a care
The fire went out
Your fingers tangled in my hair
The morning came
And chilled me to the bone
But I was okay
I felt at home

Pavement.
Hard asphalt.
Windows without any glass on them.
The Wizard of Oz was my favorite movie,
you made sure I fell asleep safely.
Coffee;
I smelled it too much growing up.
It tastes like nostalgia but the smell makes me sick, it makes me think of all the things I want to forget,
stringy blonde hair, strung out, I will pretend for the rest of my life that I don't care because I know there's nothing to hold my care.
Living room floors;
I've never felt more at home
I've never felt more alone.

I can't remember where I slept.

Stop pretending like you understand because in simplest terms
you just can't.
You can comprehend what it's like to only trust the people who left and the people who are dead instead of the people who are still here, I trust them because they did what I said and they left,
but God
sometimes I wish they would have been there.

Stop shooting up on love,
get help.
Your pupils don't exist.
I exist but it's been dismissed far too many times for me to give a single **** about any of this.
There's a new proverb:
Accept that it's possible for people to love needles more than other people.
It makes open hands turn into fists
and it makes me really really ******* ******.
But I'm not angry.

I am not dark,
I do not have a dark heart,
I'll show you darkness.
I'll let you look under the crack of the bedroom door in a house that would give you sores from just stepping foot through the door.
I'll show you what it's like to cry every night because there are a substantial amount of why's in a pool of what if's that answers never seemed to float in.

But trust me, this is not darkness, this is negative energy touching positive and bouncing off of everything in between, this is it leaving our bodies and begging to be seen,
This is not death, this is not release, this is not about you
or me
this is about the ones who lost it all, this is about the ones who's apologies will never amount to a hug or a new baby doll,
this is for the boys who lost their nerve and chose to find a friend in something unheard,
this is for the girls who wish they could stop, but know they can't handle reality at all,
this is for nobody and everyone all at once,
this is for all of the people I trust.

A day before the holiday of green,
a girl was born.
That girl
turned into a lovely soul.
Her dreams of the future
overwhelming,
too big for her head!
She wants to sing and dance
to the music in her head,
overflowing,
a melody of ideas only she could hear.
She keeps it locked up,
that tune in her head.
So no one else could see
that song her heart played
the occasional blues
changing into rock n' roll
unpredictable,
not even she could know what the future holds.
But she dances on,
that silent waltz
twirling through life, all alone.
Her dark brown eyes always watching,
waiting.
Maybe one day she will be joined by a similar soul,
ideas untold.
Until that day comes she will dance to the rhythm of her mind
when eyes are turned away
her true colors shine.

You leaned in close and said,
"There is no lull before the storm"
You warned me about the wrath of gods like you,
That you were born with lightning inside
And this is why when you cry,
A terrible flood sweeps across the land

I hold you near and the earth is shaking beneath our feet
You said, "You are the lull before the storm,"
And you kiss me like thunder, you kiss me hard
That I am a mountain leveled flat

And this is why your heart is not mine –
That when I leave,
I cannot take it with me
Like Mjolnir in Thor’s hand,
A heart is like a hammer