Stuck in guilt tattled by perpetual emotion she tries to find her devotion

She looks from face to face
Trying to find her place
While she secretly aches
To drown in his ocean

A runaway slave
Trying to find her grave

He makes the hours
In her head
Into minutes
Quickened hearts beat
As she seeks
A final home
to rest her bones

He reminds her that life is too short to find matching pairs of socks

Now she wanders on a terrain of rocks

Maybe it could've been

A smile overcomes her

Overwhelms her
But he compels her
Despite his lack of trust
For an honest open love

Arms open for that of a skeleton

They know each of the others relevance

His heart is hers to own

As he sits and cradles her unmarked tombstone

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.