You have made me do some things
I am not certain I'm proud of
You have made me say some things
my mouth has not even figured out yet,
Stuck in between not pronounced
"I love you's"
and should have said
"Don't hurt me's"
My heart and
my body
drowned in alcohol
pounding pain
Searching for even more
regrets with every single
bit, every single kiss,
every single touch,
and I regret myself from meeting you.

I haven't writen in a while and it hurts my heart and head to know I just don't have inspiration. The words used to flow out of my fingertips when I was with you but now it's like if they were stuck in the palm of my hands and they cannot reach out for the paper. And today I read a poem about death and couldn't help but to remember how I used to picture how sweet it'd be to die by your side. Pathetic. He is hugging me like before and I am getting chills and that is also pathetic. Maybe love is not made for someone like me or maybe I am not made for something so beautiful as love, but as long as I can write...
I guess it's alright

I once met a painter
she had some promising talent
her hands traced figures in her white canvas
and gave so much detail to every single movement

I once met a painter
she always had her hair in a ponytail
her eyes weren't amazing
but they were great
at least that's the only thing she appreciated
in herself.

The painter drew me a picture
it was a landscape
two trees and grass
the trees had and amazing mixture of red and yellow and wine
and the grass was made up of tears and some goodbyes
the painter never came back
the painter never could
the painter lost herself
between a canvas
and some wounds.

I should probably go to sleep. My best friend is sleeping and my eyes are closing but there is so much to write about you. We spoke for an hour today over the phone and let me tell you just how much I've missed your voice (a shitload) and perhaps we are going to prom together and perhaps I really haven't gotten over everything yet and perhaps it was all too wonderful to forget I hope I make a wonderful date so you do not forget. I also hope that perhaps I look beautiful in a taylor made dress I chose the color thinking about you, and I hope the corsage is also beautiful, but not as beautiful as the way your arms will hold me as we walk in the big palace (or house) will hold the party. Now I'm listening to a song that brings back so many memories, not of you, but of someone that hurt me so much and I am getting a bit emotional, you changed the broken part of me with your super glue and made me become a shield, which I think nobody really gets to do. My super glued heart thanks you, and my scarred wrists too.

I'm sitting in a big couch with a bunch of tears threatening to leave my eyes and I've never felt more vulnerable. I have your voice stuck in the head like daises freshly wilted and honestly; it's not fair. I don't but I do. You are inside my chest, but you are almost not. Leaving and entering as you please, as if you were a ghost made up of people's promises and best regrets. But I think you are more than a ghost made up of promises and regret's but made of constellations and flower petals because I really like those things and I still kind of really like you.

A week without you has gone by and let me tell you, it has been hard. A storm started at the bottom of my guts and was brought up by the courage and pain you produced in me all the way up to my heart and the weather conditions inside of it are not favorable. Cloudy and rainy and broken and teared apart, the raindrops start to fall down at the whisper of your name. The memories seem to be the storm hunters this time, giving a break to the real ones, this is one storm they cannot or will not survive to. You are still there, smiling as radiant as the sun but as timid and hiden behind a lovely puffy cloud, the one cloud the storm hasn't touched. That cloud accompanies the storm in every adventure, destroying hearts and minds. You can tell I've missed you a lot this week without you specially because now every object takes form into you or your arms or hands. I wish you could still be here. It's pouring wet in my heart, I might catch a cold and die from pneumonia (not that I care).

I wish I could
just talk to you
ask you
how your day is going
or how your life has been
act as tranquil
and happy
as you act with me

I wish I could
pretend I'm not dying
every time your name
pops on my phone screen
or that I really miss you
and I don't know if that
even makes sense at all
because I am not
supposed to meet you
not after everything that happened and
I can't help but fill my sleeves
with the residues of tears
and broken promises

I wish I could tell you
all of this
so all I can do
is write about you.