Bruised forearms
and blood stained shirts
was never quite worth the price

You meet these beautiful people
at times where everything seems so wrong
and these people seem to have it all figured out
they put all of your what if's at ease

All I've been hoping for
is to be more
than just an other flower
left to die
shrivelled up between
the pages of your coffee stained notebook

Don't go and act as if I had purposely rained on your beautiful day,
because if I really had done it on purpose,
I wouldn't have gone with rain,
I would have gone with a thunder storm,
while you slept peacefully at night,
so that you'd wake up violently at 3 a.m,
without being able to fall back asleep,
because I know there's nothing you hate more than laying there wide awake,
restlessly thinking of me

This on going misery needs to end one day right?

I knew you were the type of book I'd never be able to put down
I knew it was going to end eventually
but I was hoping that you'd give me one last try
and maybe just maybe it could have ended differently

Red wine tastes like heartache,
bacardi tastes like my parents' liquor cabinet,
and ***** reminds me of you simply because your lips used to always taste of it

The fact that I still catch myself thinking about the way you wrapped your fingers around my heart and suffocated it makes me wonder about what I would have done if I had realized what your fingers were doing wrapped around my heart so tight and what you were in the process of damaging my most precious *****.

I hate you most
when I catch myself
dulling pencils over you

6 years ago you meant nothing to me,
6 year difference doesn't seem like much,
and yet in 6 years everything will have changed,
hopefully I won't still get shivers,
when someone mentions your name

If I were asked to write what my thoughts were about you,
I'd fill pages with run on sentences about every freckle laying on your pale skin and every hair that rises on my arms when you whisper my name. I'd dull pencils trying to describe very inch of you beautiful smile and how I'll forever miss the taste of your warm lips on mine during a cold winter night. I'd ink every page in this ******* place, and I'd make sure to scratch out words that wouldn't sound right next to your name.

All of these years I thought that "love"
was just something I made up to be nothing at all really
until I realized there were no other words to describe
how I feel when your name gets brought up

I never realized
how truly and unconditionally happy
you made me
until you met her

You can tell the difference between the smile on my face while I'm with him and the one I have while I'm with you.

His name causes every single cell in my body to react,
his name makes every goose bump on my skin rise,
and his name sends shivers going all the way down my spine

She flooded her liver,
powdered her nose,
and suffocated her lungs,
all because she couldn't stand being alone

The only thing more brutal than hopeless love is hope itself.

I want to be adored,
the way I adore every single freckle
which scatter all over your pale skin,
the way I adore the crisp air and the leaves crunching beneath my feet
while I walk home alone and compare you to the breeze,
or the way I adore how your hands overpower mine.

You think of me as this perfect somebody,
and yet all I see is an empty heart,
a lonely nobody.

And when people mention "home" I do not think of where I live,
I think of my favorite place to rest,
which is on your chest.

if that's what love is about
than I do not want to be loved
or to love at all

something is terribly wrong.

every single thought
flowing through the river in my mind
leads to you
a voice mail I wish I had the guts to send
or a message I wish I had the courage to write to you
I cannot erase you in everything I see
all I can do is hope that you see me the way I see you
which is in every beautiful thing that crosses my path

It just didn't work out
even though I was always trying

no one knows how truly
and unconditionally sad
I am

I feel emptier and emptier as the days go by

I saw some of the old stuff we had talked about
and I can't help but wonder if you talk about that stuff with someone other than me now that I'm gone..

He spoke about her every freckle,
as if they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen

but they are scattered all over her body I said
exactly he responded

And if
getting over him
were as easy as
not making him the subject of my poems any longer
I'd be over him
by **now

All of the bottles were empty,
and so was she

Red* lipstick stains,
on the back of your neck,

I wish I owned that shade of red

The most beautiful flowers rot in our vases,
Our favourite candles burn to the wick,
we always end up destroying what we love most,

*nothing seems to be good enough for us at this point

cold winter nights,
wondering if it's smoke,
from the cigarette you stole from your parents,
or just the ghosts of our breaths,
seeping out from our lungs,
in the dark crisp air

The tears you shed,
are what drown you in the end

And my thoughts are a river,
that lead to you,
always,
because you are the most comfortable place for them to rest,
in the crease,
the one on the left of your chest,

but sooner or later,
it'll all be too much,
and the river might begin to flood

They told her that her mind was nothing but a gold cage,
because her thoughts were just too wild,
and that she needed to *restrain