god ****** she misses you

and god ****** i miss you

and im sorry, god, for swearing but i have run out of ideas on how to make this no good shapeshifting warm handed boy notice me remember when he said i love you

this is not a goodbye you don't deserve one this is not a plea for help see previous poems, twitter, my wrists, etc this is not a romanticization of your destructive ways and i no longer hear birds sing when you torch cities and i can't bring myself to see the love in your inferno so what the hell do i have left to say to you

i once wrote that you left love letters on my tongue and that you made drowning fun but i have come to the conclusion that those are both in fact lies and that the only thing you left on my tongue is the bitter taste of your name and beer and that drowning is ******* terrible and so are you

i remind myself everyday that you must have been a good person somewhere along the way and that there must have been some point where you actually did miss the feeling of my skin and that i was the only one you cared for- but i must also remember the day you filled my vacancy and turned on the lights and i still see you in the smiling pictures hung on the walls like your head in the hall whenever i pass by and i remember the day you moved out and on to nicer things and to this day you have succeeded in making the whole thing feel like an eviction, like it was me that wanted you gone and my peeling wallpaper has since revealed that the only thing holding me together was you

funny how every part of this poem ends with you and funny how every thought these days ends with you

and it's funny how when things ended with you you were the only one laughing

this is not a cry or a plea or an appology

this is a eulogy from me to you and i will not waste any more metaphors or adjectives or nights where i should be fast asleep on your whirlpool eyes and twisted smile

you once said, at 3 am, "you know when you're as close to loving someone as physically possible without actually saying it?" and i replied with "yes" and i love you i love you i love you

i hope flowers grow from your rotting heart and i hope you wake up some life and feel just a hint of remorse as you look into her eyes

i'm not a poet and you're not a nice boy and there was a time when i would devote my life to writing about the way you touched my cheek and you would devote your life to exploring the small of my back

that life has ended and i hope she holds you close enough at night

(my own hands will find comfort in the folds you left unnoticed and i will let myself hear the whispers of flattery upon every surface i touch. i will love myself and i will learn to not love you and i will find someone that i can love without pushing myself aside)

i don't know how i ended up here but it feels as if i got on the wrong train and ended up at an abandoned station and your eyes resemble the wall clocks and the tracks your arms. i would give the world to jump down below the platform and faded yellow line, to feel your cold as metal touch on my cheek once more. i wish i never bought a **** ticket in the first place. i wish i would stop romanticizing what you did to me and i wish i wish i wish i could stop writing about you.

but **** how can i? you're still in my mind and you're still in my texts and you're still in the mouths of everyone who talks to me and you're still standing there with your puppeteer strings and my scissors cant free me this time.

who could forget the boy with the oceans in his eyes and the poison on his tongue. i think i am immortal now because i keep drowning and there seems to be no end. i also think you're a huge ******* *******, please let me kiss you again.

you couldn't **** me so you ****** with my brain and you ****** with my heart and you ****** my friends and i never even got to say goodbye you know that? you said you hated goodbyes and i know now it's because you never needed closure. i am still a weak girl who has sewn new strings and will move to your command in a heart beat. throw me aside with your other toys until the day comes around when i become needed, i will be beautiful again.

so when you tell me you miss the feeling of my skin, *******, i am confused because it feels as if you have never felt below my shell. i am confused because you are high and i am tired. i am confused because the next week you took a match to us and left the wreck unscathed.

it's 10:05am and i did not drink last night and you were kind of a **** and i don't think you're aware of the overwhelming presence you have on my life. you ******* looked into my eyes yesterday though, for the first time in months, and i could've sworn i saw something human in your eyes.

i used to compare your oceans to my salty rivers and mistook a black hole for a wishing well.

i broke a boy's heart the other day and cursed you for ruining me.

I think i believe in god now. Not as an overbearing presence or a silver-bearded man sat upon clouds dictating my every move but i think i have found meaning the idea of a greater power.

I don't know how we end up drenched in cold september rain every time we go out but i think its a sign. Of what i'm not yet sure but i know the way your eyes lit up the last time i saw you was the work of an angel.

I swear i reached heaven when my heart jumped out of my chest and into your hands, metaphorically of course since your hands explored my skin, i was beside you and i think i lost track of where blanket met boy because your warmth replaced mine and my god did it feel good.

I'm not juliet and you're no romeo but maybe our lips can do as hands do one day, and maybe i can reach enlightenment or like hold your hand or something.

I think about why people pray as i lie in bed synthesizing you out of blankets and no amount of ******* pillows can make every hair stand on end like you. My thighs miss your hands and their melodic movements and trails of fire and i miss the sound of your heart and how fast it was beating and i wonder if you could hear mine too from across the room.

I hope heaven looks a lot like that room, as this one is hell and someone turned up the heat.

1:23 am and you want to get drunk off alcohol and i want to get drunk off your lips but i guess it's easier to open a bottle than your mouth.

1:43 am and i know you're drinking and i long to be the cold metal you wrap your lips around and the cool liquid that runs over the mountains on your tongue.

2:15 am and you ask me how i am and you worry that i've fallen asleep but you don't see that i can't even close my eyes without seeing you, without me, and i consider never blinking again if it means i can escape that sight.

2:24 am and you tell me i'm cute. 14 times.

2:36 am "i want to kiss you" and i know your brain is fuzzy and your hands are shaking but when you tell me these 5 words i cant help myself from stretching them out and wrapping myself in them.

2:38 am "i really want to kiss you" and i know you're drunk and i know you ****** me over and i know you've said this to other girls and i know i shouldn't want to but i know that i really want to kiss you too.

2:47 am "i really wanna see you" and i wish you knew what your simple phrases do to me and maybe you do but the only thing i know for sure at this moment is that you are no good for me and i can't get enough.

2:49 am and you say you'll do anything but your intoxicated mind can't see that you've had me hooked for as long as i can remember.

3:01 am and you start to turn away and i feel you getting farther and i can't do anything to hold you in place for just a second longer. i'm choking on my words as you doubt my feelings for you and i can't help but blame myself for letting you slip away. but maybe i never really had you in the first place.

3:19 and all i hear is "no"

"fine"

"nevermind"

3:34 am and i ask you if you know how much you mean to me and you say no and i think my heart just gave up and i think you just gave up and i can't believe you'd think i'd give up

4:03 am and the door screeches behind me (****) and the air is colder than i thought (****) and i have no idea where to go (****).

4:13 am and i find myself making conversation with the rain and the earth is breathing me in and the stars look at me with such pity and i try to drown them out but i'm just a washed out girl waiting for a boy who's not coming.

4:24 am and i can't bring myself to leave this **** corner just like i can't bring myself to get over you and your stupid lips.

sometime after 4:24 am and i can see you coming towards me as a shadow in the streetlights and i don't think you have any idea how my being craves your touch, how my fingers miss the nape of your neck and how the small of my back feels so ******* abandoned.

there is no measure of time when i am with you and your hands become one with my shaking fingers and your thumb rolls over my palm and we are in the middle of the street and i think this is the first time in a long time that i do not wish for a car to come and sweep me off my feet. i think you've gotten taller but i do not feel small anymore, i do not feel empty, i do not long for an end. i think you lift me up and i think i like the way you smell and i think i'm going crazy but it seems to me that your tongue is writing love letters on mine and i can feel our chests moving, breathing heavy, and our hearts have left our lonely bodies and merged as one in the air above our heads.

5:18 am and your touch is a fire that i do not want to put out. but it is raining and i have to go but i think i can hear it sizzling still. i do not think that your beer and **** can compare to the high i get from your lips on my neck or the dizziness i get from your fingers running along my spine. your kiss is addictive and i could get drunk off of you all the time. if only i could.

i used to fall asleep to the same playlist every night and i would rest my head on the slow beat of some indie song that played from my phone one notch too loud and my eyelids would blink every so often when i started to drift to sleep but found myself singing along instead.

my mum always told me to turn it off and see how much quicker i would fall asleep, my mum never understood how the silence pierced my ear drums and burdened my hearing more than any song could. and i told her that it calmed me down. and i told her that the songs filled my mind with happier thoughts than those that my brain had produced during a long day. and i told myself that i needed to listen to these collaborations of sweet nothings and acoustic guitars.

i also told myself that i needed you.

and my mother never warned me about you or the damage you were capable of. she never told me to turn you down and see how much easier i would have it.

i revisited you like my ripened playlist and i told myself that you calmed me down, and i told myself that you made me happy, and i told myself that i needed you like i needed each and every one of those songs and i tell myself now that i was wrong.

i did not need you to make me happy and i did not need you to calm me down and i did not need you because you were just like those blurred melodies and messy lyrics.

you were just another song in a playlist i used to block out the silence.

i turn you into poems and maybe it's because i want to see you as something special or maybe i want whatever we are to have some sort of deeper meaning that can only be explained in the most twisted similes and metaphors that make wonder about things i never should wonder about.

i turn you into poems and i ask myself; are you the tree that falls silently in the forest or are you the person that isn't around to hear it? are you the fire or the fuel that i continue to add to it? are you the cause of a chain reaction or just another part of one? is what we had the elephant in your room or was it the entire room itself?

i turn you into poems when it's late at night and i turn myself into a blank page and i cover myself with you but you are only ink and this is only a metaphor.

i turn you into poems when you look at me and i think i can hear the morning song birds telling me tomorrow will bring me happiness but i think you hear the crows and the ravens and you look ominous and i think it is because only i hear the birds and this is only a metaphor.

i turn you into poems when i turn 16 and you haven't so much as smiled at me and i turn to you when i need help and you turn away and i continue to turn you into ******* poems.

you are a book of poems resting by my bed and i am just the author.