Do you
miss me when
you hear my name?

Do you
miss me when
you hear my name?
Does it
hurt when you
fall asleep now,
with
nothing but
your cold bed?
Does it hurt
when you see
me around?
Does it hurt
now you know
you'll never
see me again?
Do you
miss me when
you hear my name?

I'm tired of
feeling like this,
like his hands
against my body
are better than
anyone else's
ever have been.

Love me with
your words, your
body, love me
with your smile.
Take my hand and
don't let go.
Why can't you
love me?

You have holes
in your sheets
from your last
lover.

It's okay if
I'm not the one
you dreamed of,
but please,
just love me back
for now,
instead.

I wonder
if my body is mine,
I mean,
if it breaks
will it **** me
or will it **** you?

I'm tired
of missing you
when you're
right next to
me.

Do you even
miss me
at all?
You're in the
spaces between
my bed
and the wall,
but
do you even
miss me
at all?

I ****** strangers
in their cars
and
thought of you,
I breathed your
name down
another man's throat
and didn't bother
to hide it,
I ****** strangers
in their cars
in an attempt to
forget your
body.

I've spent too many
nights with men who
just want to **** me
and then throw me
out like yesterday's
trash,
that it still comes
as a surprise
when you're next to
me in the morning.

Your hands
trace
the pattern of
my skin,
just like my
mouth traces
your collarbones
and
I say things
you'll never hear
when you
aren't listening.

(I think we're drifting.)

You are small
notes on
worn paper,
"don't eat that,
you'll hate yourself
later."

You haven't yet
figure out
how
to love me
so
I trace the patterns
of your heartbeats
when
you think
I
can't hear it,
and I whisper
words that
you'll
never hear
when I
think
you aren't
listening.

You're telling me
I don't matter,
I never mattered
at all,
by leaving bruises
on my skin
again,
but my body
is not your
*******
canvas,
and I am not
your girl
anymore.

I dreamed of
your lips against
mine again
last night, I
dreamed of the
way your hands
trace the outlines of
my body and your
teeth scrape the
side of my neck.
I felt myself
falling asleep
in your arms
even though you weren’t
there.

All you've ever said
is a *******
lie
and I'm filled with
so much hate
and I
don't know
why.

You couldn't
love me better
but
you couldn't
love me worse.

you can't start a fire with nothing to burn.

Oh god
I miss you
so much.

I would have
held your hand and
made you feel
okay,
and I would have
gone home
with you and
slept in your arms
all night.

you are like
broken spines and
bad nights.

you built something
inside me,
and seem to have
already gone,
even though
If I just reach a little
forward,
I can still touch you.

Your
kisses burned
your name
under my
skin.

Even the rain doesn't fall
in the places you have touched me.

And baby,
your hand in mine
is enough to warm me,
your kiss is what sets
this paper heart
alight.

I was born to leave
bloodstains on
things that I touch,
but I was not the
blood from
the bullet
that
tore you apart.

I'll hold you
til you fall
asleep.

They never taught me about boys like you, boys who pour pretty words down your throat and are gone by the morning.

light a match
and
watch it
kiss me down.

You said
I wasn't worth the world,
wasn't worth anything
at all,
my face
still has a red mark
from where you've
hit me, my
body still has bruises
from where
you grabbed me
and didn't let go, as
if you were holding
on to the ghost
of someone
you once loved,
and you wanted to
make sure they didn't
disappear again.
Afterward, you
told me I was beautiful
and then took
it back,
said you didn't mean
to hurt me
but I
still am not
worth anything
at all.

You are making earthquakes
with your hands, destroying
mountains, building cities
from my spine and crushing
them with hurricanes that
fall from your mouth.
Your body is the tornado
whirling through my door
at 3am on a Thursday morning.

You are nothing but
silent death, your blood
drenched upon broken
flowers, your eyes blacker
than the night and your
arms a picture of a war.

You held
a bible in your
unholy hands,
sang to
heaven and danced
to hell,
you were
my religion, my hands
that clasped
together in a moment
of prayer,
you were
the difference between
devils and angels,
between life and death.

You are colder than this winter night,
yet you burn me like this fire I light.

These notes were once
all addressed to you because
I always tried to
begin a sentence with something other than your name,
but my hands
only know how to write
about you.

You painted
a sunset in the back of my
throat, so that every time
we kissed, you could taste
something beautiful that
wasn't me.

you gave me
a bullet and a gun
in the form of
a love letter

The sun wakes after I have walked two hours just to trace the outline of your body.
My arms have purple fingerprints from all the times you grabbed me when I walked into your ghost.
A thousand suns used to fall from the tips of my fingers into your outstretched hands.
You would kiss me just to catch the cigarette smoke unfurling out of my mouth.
We used to play last card beneath a candle light and sitting in forts.
The colours of a hundred sun sets fell from your mouth when you looked at me.
Rainbows had formed in the back of your throat where you thought no one could find them, but I tasted them when your lips met mine.
My eyes have dark rings under them from all the sleepless nights you caused me.
You carved a hole in my chest and never replaced it.
You held me so tight all of my bones broke and every crack had your name inside.

The sun woke this morning and I wasn't tracing the outlines of your body.
I wasn't speaking volumes because your lips weren't touching mine, and that's the only time I feel safe enough to write a novel.
The sun rose and I was waist deep in the water, trying not to think about your face.
But the water made waves that carried your name right to me.

he is the gun in my mouth he is the flames in my hands he is the pills on my tongue he is the smoke in my lungs he is the alcohol falling down my throat he is the sin I didn't want to make.

I don't know how to
not **** everything up,
I don't know how to change
my ways,
and I don't know why I'm
such a terrible person.
Someone tell me how to
get rid of my anxiety
so I can talk to people.
Someone tell me how to
be a better person,
because I'm tired of always
being wrong.

I've never had a home
that felt like one,
more than the home I
feel when you put your
arms around my waist,
when you kiss my neck
and when you whisper
my name into my ear.

You're a little like a shipwreck and I think you lost your heart amidst all the piles of rust and dust and I tried to help you by looking for it but everything was so dark and I couldn't find a light, so I tried looking in your eyes but there was nothing there.
You lost your mind a few years ago and I don't think you've ever really been the same. Your eyes used to hold an eternity of light, but now they're darker than the darkest of nights.
You treat your body like a canvas and it looks like you're trying to draw a map, I always knew you were lost but I couldn't figure out where you were, maybe you're lost inside yourself, and I don't know where your map is planning to take you but I hope you get out okay and I hope it's nicer than where you are now.
You look like you're made out of paper and you are so fragile I can't remember the last time I touched you because everything I touch seems to break and I couldn't do that to you.
You have power lines surging through your veins but you're breaking them one by one, so I guess you're not happy with them anymore. You leave cracks all along them and let the energy leak out.
You're like a minefield and I honestly don't know how to work my way around you anymore. I've had years of practice but you suddenly switched and now everything is different and I can't navigate you in the dark.
You started to do things that I do a few months back. Now you stand by me while I light things on fire, because I guess it's better than lighting myself on fire.
You stand by me while I stand on the edges of cliffs, my arms open and my head back, staring at the sky and wondering if I could make myself fly. I don't really want to, I just want to jump. But if I stepped off the edge, I would want you to fly.
And I don't really know which is worse, the look on your face when you know I'm not really there, or the look on your face when you suddenly realised you weren't either.
I'm still looking for your heart, but I think it has been swept away, I'm sorry, but never mind, you took mine anyway.

The moon cascaded on to your skin,
shining lights brighter than the northern ones into your eyes,
taking pictures of the sun
and planting them behind your eyelids,
capturing colours from the galaxy and rainbows
and painting them in the back of your throat.
You're like the fire I used to set in my hands when I couldn't breathe,
except this time it's because
you resemble the flames dancing in my hands,
and you feel like home when
your hands close around mine
and your arms wrap around my waist,
and I love you like I love the sunrise,
and cigarettes,
which altogether is a ******* lot,
and coffee tastes like your breath
when you leave for uni and I'm still in bed,
and sometimes when you're gone I wear your hoodies which are oversized on me,
but I like it because it feels like you're wrapping yourself around me.

Maybe one day,
I'll wake up and not hate
myself, and breathing will
come naturally like it does
to everyone else.
I've never really understood
how people around me can
breathe with no effort,
but it takes half the muscles
in my body just to take
one ******* breath,
I guess I'm just unlucky.

I think there's an arsonist
living under my skin and
on the edge of my fingertips,
leaving behind a trail of
flames wherever I go,
and I've always wondered
whether this will be the
night when I finally burn
to a pile of ashes, and I've
spent an eternity destroying
myself and the home I used
to live in, and I pushed just
about everyone away and
I don't have the energy to restart
all over again, I'm in pieces on
the ground but maybe I'm better
off this way and maybe
one day I'll be okay again.

**** wasting energy
when I'll just
fall apart again,
Keeping myself in
one piece is a life lesson
I think I must have missed,
because everyone else seems
to do it so effortlessly.
I can't keep myself whole,
I guess glue can't fix broken
bones and the stitches just
fall off when my veins break.

It's 11pm and
I still haven't eaten yet,
been drinking
alcohol and coffee
to fill my stomach.
Maybe you'll love me better
if I was prettier, skinnier,
if I just wasn't me.
Your name is in the bottom
of every bottle, your lips
are stained where my mouth
falls on this cup of coffee,
and your breath is falling
out of my cigarettes and
into my mouth.

The water kissed
the edges of the beach,
and the moon kissed
the sun goodnight,
but you never even
managed to kiss me
goodbye.