you cut open my core and threw my insides at the walls
with all of your indecencies and heedless galaxies
that i'd try to explore, but you kept closed, and gravity;
my feet on the ground as they should be,
as musicians and stupid poets like me
dedicate promises we're positive don't change how you love.

and i figure you to be my supernova.

this abominable disaster you've caused transformed me into
the ink blots splattered and messy and unconstitutional cracks
in the ceiling that we think to fix but never quite have enough spackle.
and i'm **** at sewing, but you force me to stitch myself back
together for days and weeks until i said,
"i want you out of my life"
even though we both knew i was lying and desperate to feel
something because ****** romantics like me
want hermia and lysander,
not demetrius and helena.

and we can't think without the noise of each other and the
constant loose ends that fray,
and time and time again imissyouimissyouimissyou.

and my silence, your silence is the loudest heartbreak i know,
and beethoven never had these problems because he could feel
and he knew that fire and hearts do not mix,
and neither should deceit,
but pretty boy you tore out my heart with burning hands and kept
it in your back pocket with all the others,
and i never said otherwise because at least i was something to you
even if our hearts beat to different drums,
and explosions,
and cracked ribs that you'd like to take because my heart wasn't enough and you needed pieces of me to make yourself feel whole.

and i wish i was a little more selfish because i'm stuck with a
carcass of my old self and the buzzards don't care of the
shell i am now; made up of frozen sno cones, and your eyes.

i look into the bottom of my plastic cup;
the one stained with lipstick on the rim and beer foam oozing down the sides
and suddenly i don’t hate you as much as i thought i did.
i begin to love you
to want all of you
but i never knew what love really was
because when it was your turn to drink just to feel,
and you had suddenly begun to feel the same as me,
i realized that i definitely never knew what love was.
i just knew what wanting something bad for you truly felt like
and wanting it so bad felt so **** good
and wrong
but also right, in some kind of ****** up way.
and it felt like cheap beer,
and heartbreak,
and nothing past what happened secretly in your room between us
and the ever familiar sheets.
because when the cup is empty
and the keg is tapped
we slowly swim out of our muddied minds
and pry ourselves away from each other’s hot sticky bodies.
and i don’t stay.
i shrug on my clothes and bite my lip
all to not kiss you goodbye
and i leave that room that smells like bad decisions,
and finally know...
finally realize,
drunk love is always deeper than it actually is,
and what it truly is behind my romanticizing heart
is that it’s nothing.
it’s nothing but a few minutes of ecstasy
and you will still feel the same about me when you’re sober.
you will still need a few drinks to feel the way i felt.
so i don’t love you, right?
i drunk love you, and nothing more.
you’ve made that clear.
so my drunk love is a sinking boat,
and here i am again
drowning in my beer.

i have not felt for some time now,
my barricading skills are better than i’d like to admit,
and i cannot remember the last time i stepped outside of them.
i misunderstand the difference between conquering, and suffering
because in one,
you win,
and in the other,
well,
it is easy to be swarmed with grief.
i wore grief like a badge.
but in both,
to conquer you must suffer first in order to know what you are fighting for.
i have yielded nothing but emptiness in my hands as others swung their daggers and swords
scraping my surface as prologue,
then finally slivering down to my bone as epilogue.
but my story is not over,
my barricades are crumbling stone by stone
and maybe my sun will shine again,
but i am a force to be reckoned with because queens will conquer,
and my legacy is just beginning.

while asleep i cannot scream,
even when the darkness haunts me.
my throat is dry and i have lost my voice
of succumbing to silence.
when i wake my voice cracks
only in an effort to let out my shrieks.
and for what else does it say about me?
that in life i am so silenced
that in dreams i cannot scream.

i creep back to you the same way your color floods
into my mind on the grayest of days,
and i cannot block you out no matter how hard
i **** you to hell.
i know i can't stop loving you,
and i try to recede like low tide instead of
swallowing you whole,
but the waves of high tide come and i crave being
engulfed by you.
and i don't want to be a black hole;
all-consuming for something,
for anything.
but in the dark i still find you,
and your bright baby blues,
i will always find you,
perhaps i always will.
maybe because i know your heart beats gold,
and only i see it,
so maybe i am lucky in that sense,
or cursed,
that if your soul turns black,
or vanishes into a colorless hole,
i will still always see your light.

they say we are made of stardust,
but we have to remember
that that was an entire explosion,
and that we are the product of destruction.

my heart does not work in the way that i'd like.
ask me if i am able to love myself,
and the answer will be "no"
even though i know that i should say "yes"
because i am blessed with the life i do have,
though it may at times hurt like cracked, bleeding anything
all just in need of repair.
i have nothing to fix it anymore...
i've used up everything,
and my heart beats abnormally;
beating for those who don't deserve it,
for those who've hurt it-
i still somehow find it racing,
jumping out of my chest just yearning for some other heart,
one that is more stable, and constant.
one that is not held together by thin weaves of thread,
and rusted staples that can't stay clasped shut for much longer.
no,
my heart does not work in the way that i'd like.
it is broken.
it is beaten.
and it is stupid,
but i am still capable of love,
and it may go to the wrong people,
but better wrong than none at all.