late night
dark room
quiet house
mind on you

n.p.

give me a kiss
like it could be your
last one.
“hold on”
you say,
as you quickly down your
cold one.
make love to me
under the light
of the stars,
not
under the light
of the bars.
look in your eyes
with a caring gaze,
all i get back
is a drunken haze.

n.p.

i can still feel your touch,
your soft hands grabbed my face and i was quickly intoxicated with your scent.
i can still taste your lips,
the fresh mint that feverishly entered my mouth without hesitation.
i can still hear your laugh,
it roared as you threw your head back in blithe.
i still feel the distance,
the way you shut me out, unconcerned of how it would affect me.

i long to feel your touch

to taste your lips

to hear your laugh

just once more

but now,
you’re just a memory.

n.p.

my heart races for you,
it goes the extra mile for you,
it passes the finish line for you,
it does all these things for you
and you aren’t even there to cheer it on from the crowd

You say you're sorry
Sorry for taking advantage of my kindness once again.
Sorry for ruining our chances at being close like we were.
Sorry for pushing us farther and farther apart.
When will you realize sorry doesn't heal everything.
It's not the tape you easily put on a rip in a paper,
its not the needle and thread you used to patch up your torn shirt,
its not the band aid you put on your open wound.
Because soon enough,
the tape dries
the thread loosens
and the band aid falls off
But don't worry, you can always say sorry.
By now sorry has probably set up a tent on your tongue, it seems to be the only thing coming out of your mouth.
When will you realize sorry doesn't heal everything.
It  isn't supposed to last a couple of weeks.
The more you say it, the less meaning it has.
I wont be around to wait for you to figure any of this out.
Sorry.

n.p.

That look,
that look you're giving me,
i could tell what it is from a mile away.
You aren't mad, no. You're disappointed.
That look,
that look you're giving me
with your eyes darkened and the corners of your mouth twitching down.
You aren't sad, no. You're disappointed.
That look,
that look you're giving me,
like i just stained your favorite sweater
the one that fits you just right.
You aren't remorseful, no. You're disappointed.
That feeling,
that feeling I get when you give me the look.
It's a punch in the gut.
A loss of trust.
A trembling, constant worry.
I'm not disappointed, No.
I'm the disappointment.

n.p.