it's in dark rooms and isolated spaces
do i find serenity and peace.

it's in the creases of your soft hands
do i find security.

it's in corners filled with shadows
where happiness exists.

it's in the touch of your red-stained lips
where hope lies fully.

it's in staring at pitch-black ceilings
do i feel a broken-hearted 's disease.

it's in your opaque eyes the color of storms
do i feel the calmness of a sea.

it's in me and my fondness of darkness
where love kind of is.*

it's in you and your fondness of brightness
where i can never be.

This is supposed to be a poem,
Ill get round to it..

someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand"