i want my perfume
to be your
favorite
smell

i want you
to hold me
closer
than you've ever
held anyone

i wish you
were here
to tell me
i will be
okay

You are above me, for the simple fact that you are not me.
I am but a lonely piano player, who resides in the corners
of restaurants and blackened old hearts. You, with

glimmering eyes, and mischievous lips, dance barefoot
against the earth, the arches of your feet covered in free-verse.
I do not approach you; you are above me.

And here is something you may have overlooked
One room’s floor is another room’s
ceiling, and while you sway and dance and live and wander

you are inevitably doing so on my dreams. Burdened and breathless,
I sit and watch you move, up in the stars and the night and the
glow of the moon.

I look up and i see Heaven, you look down and you
see Hell. And as you bow your head to pray, just remember,
you are above me.

Darling, you overcharge my battery
One smile and my brain was jolted alive
this isn't just some surreptitious flattery
but you make me so happy I could cry

She doesn't know you like I do.
She doesn't know the real you.
The you that has a cute little birthmark just above your right elbow.
The you that has scars trailing up and down your left arm
from those times where your world was spinning so fast,
you just couldn't handle it.
The you that is beautiful without even trying.
The you that gets drunk every once in a while, loses control and goes insane.
The you that has adorable toes.
The you that has that tattoo on your left shoulder to show
that you don't settle for anything less than what you deserve.
The you that always has to shower the morning after ***.
The you that once sat in front of an oncoming car
speeding towards you,
at 75 miles per hour,
because you didn't think you were worth living for.
The you that picks at your nails with your teeth.
The you that has to vigorously brush your teeth after making love.
The you that is searching for a person to make a home out of and lay your heart in.
The you that bats his eyelashes and blushes easily when pretty girls brush past him.
The you that is 17 years old and still hasn't started shaving,
because your parents no longer trust you with sharp objects.
The you that once played the sweetest melody my ears have ever heard,
but stopped when you found out that Mozart had never found love.
The you that just wants reassurance that all of this mayhem and chaos,
is worth living for.
She doesn't know you like I do.
And I know that nothing is guaranteed in life,
but baby,
I promise you,
that she doesn't have a **** clue who the real you is.
She doesn't know you like I do.

i miss
         the smell of your hair
         the texture of your skin
         your arms around my waist
         the music you would play
         the comfort of your bed
         your hand on my thigh
         the safety in your eyes
         the cupcakes on my porch
         your slightly curved spine
         the way you shout my name
         the way you text me where i am
         your fingers around my neck
         the bruises on my ribs
         the pain in my shoulders
         your fists against my skin