The clock keeps ticking and im still bleeding but the paramedics stopped operating right after I started asking for you because they knew I was a goner. These broken teeth taste like piano keys and jesus, why is it so cold in here? Hell isn't real and the punishment for our sins are these tattered lullabies and the photos hidden in the backs of drawers your mother doesn't look in. I met god once and all I remember is feeling the wind whistling through the exit wounds on my back as he tried to muster up the courage to ask if he could *** a cigarette. Nobody will tell me where you are and these fluorescent hospital lights won't cut me a break. I keep burning my mouth on this coffee because I guess I've run out of patience for everything except you. Even though I hope you question it sometimes, I hope you always wear your seatbelt. My nails are bitten and somebody forgot to tell me that the only two options when letting go are to drop it so it shatters, or release it so gently that it aches forever. I'm kicking and screaming but no one will look at me and it might be the painkillers but the only thing I love anymore are the bruises on my legs and jesus christ somebody change this ******* song.
It's been six months but I'm still waiting for the paint to dry. I'm getting better but the exit wounds on my back still start to ache some nights. And some mornings. And some afternoons when all I have to do is glance at my hands. I keep trying to bring flowers to your grave but I can't find it anywhere. How did we get this far from honesty? Why are my lips always chapped? When is God going to fix this? I'm sorry I haven't written much lately but I guess eventually you run out of things to say when you're talking to someone who isn't even there anymore. Nobody will look me in the eyes and everything is just wrong. The phone won't stop ringing and every time I answer I just hear a younger version of myself laughing and calling to my mother to watch me go down the slide. And I keep having this dream about a car crash and I always wake up after someone in the waiting room glances at me and whispers, "does she always cry like that?" It's late and I haven't stopped driving and the lights are all blurring but I hope it's never cold wherever you are and I hope you're never tired and you never burn your tongue and I hope that at least it used to be hard for you too.
You can tell a lot about a person by the scars they have on their hands. But it's hard feeling the crash turn back into the wave and you can't stop wishing you would've listened when your mother warned you about playing with sharp things. They didn't feel sharp at the time, But I guess they never do. and I'm still trying to decide if you can love a person too much, and if that's something ill ever understand. It's almost Halloween. Do you remember halloween last year? Do you remember how we were falling in love? I'm starting to forget things. I haven't been able to smell you on this blanket in weeks. And I keep seeking even though you're not hiding but my voice is getting tired and eventually you run out of things to say when you're talking to someone who isn't there anymore. All I really know is that it rains a lot and it's kind of sad that sometimes life really is just glimpses of pictures you took off your walls in the trash and love's footprints leading out the door.
I don't know where you are tonight
but the air in my room tonight just feels a little bit heavy
and I'm a little but drunk
and I can't stop listening to the last voicemail you left me
and thinking about how cliche it is that it's you telling me you loved me
and how you always knew I loved cliche things
but my blanket still doesn't feel heavy enough
and the window I left open for you is letting cold air in
and I can't stop wasting my 11:11 wishes on trying to feel you fall out of love with me like the life draining from a car crash victim instead of the desperation of the lover having to watch from behind the caution tape
Does that make sense?
I haven't been making much sense at all lately
I hope you think of me when you're drunk
I think you at least owe me that
I loved you
I really ******* loved you
I still ******* LOVE YOU
WHERE ARE YOU
I miss you.
All these people are worried about me
I'm fragile I guess I
have to be worried about
They keep telling me that
time heals all wounds
But it still hurts to breathe whenever I smell Indian chai tea
with too much milk
And not quite enough sugar
And I can still see the
scar on my left knee from
Where you scratched me
I got so mad when you did that
I'm sorry I got mad
I'm just so sorry.
I guess open roads remind me of you because every time I merge onto a freeway or interstate the blood starts leaking through the bandages on my exit wounds again. And as the days continue to go by, the only thing I realize is how much I do not know. I don't know how to tell my mother to stop looking for anything other than a damp forrest floor in my eyes. I don't know how to stop screaming at the wind every time it whispers your name and I do not know how to release my grip on the back of the car you are trying to drive away from me. I don't know how to make my heart beat for something other than the flow of air in your lungs. I don't know how to try and look at the ocean and not see your eyes and I most certainly do not know how to think of you as anything other than a shooting star that I was too captivated by to even make a wish. I do not know how to make you think of my head on your chest when you smell earl grey tea in the late hours of the afternoon and I don't know how to fade the burn marks your leaving left. But I do know that my mother cries a lot now, and I'm hoping this road rash scars in a way that won't look like you walking away from me.
We are ultimately alone in this world. We are born alone, and we will die alone. And while this is a sad truth, it is still a truth. But sometimes, by fate or by chance, life throws someone at us who maybe, in some way, just makes us forget our impending alone-ness. And the greatest sin to be committed in this lifetime would not be the way you take The Lord's name in vain the first moment you realize you love her, but it is letting one of these people slip out of your grasp because while we may ultimately be alone, loneliness is a god ****** awful thing to feel.
Ever since you left
Angels keep appearing to me
and the iridescence of the snowflakes settled on their wings
never fails to entrance me.
And while I admire the starkness of the white in which they're clothed,
And the brutal honesty
Of the contrast between them and me,
They fall to their knees begging me to answer what they were sent to ask.
And it's become my burden to send angels with skinned knees back to God with no answer of why you could no longer love me. And I suppose understanding would not make living without hearing you murmer constellations in your sleep any less painful, but not even God himself was prepared for this and I think I'm forgetting how to breathe.