on your wedding day

I will sit in wooden church pews more uncomfortable than your fathers stare because he knows what we are both thinking.

I will let my eyes wander through eyelashes heavy with reflections from the light of your smile as she walks down the aisle.

I watch as your hands shake like a child chasing a sudden warm breeze only to find a tornado.

you say your vows and I can only imagine ***** overflowing from your mouth because the name you say after "I love you" is not mine. It is not even close.

friends and family rise and pianos begin to play what sounds like a death march. You will have your first dance with her moments after this and all I can remember  is the jealousy in your eyes the night you wished you were the one dancing with me.

the room clears out and I can only think of the bed you will make love to her in. I hope you still find my stray hairs between the sheets. I know your finger tips will caress her sides in a way I never knew how to receive.

the song of my heart was always a little off pitch, so, when she plays the pianos of your heart I can only hope this time it will be in the right

key.

Girls like me are so hot
We are the sun burning into oblivion
Causing fires in the sky of your sheets
We're ghosts with beating hearts
Our minds concrete fires,
Wordless books, eroding cliffs.
All the things you started but could never finish.

Girls like me, we're unattainable.
You can only pretend you had us.
If only for a second before we disappear.
Moving like quicksand through your fingers.
Leaving you grasping at the air for nothing.
You'll wonder if your imagination
Struck cruel again.

Our lips won't offer you salvation.
You won't find peace in our bodies.
We kiss with scarred knuckles
We do not love gently, if we love at all.
You can hold us tightly but we won't break
Girls like me are made of marble;
Not even fire can **** us.

Us hurricane girls are the devils delight.
We consume souls with delicate fingers.
Nails red and perfectly manicured to a point.
Our lips plush; the taste of cherry and blood.
We paint our desires on our fingertips
Leaving traces of them on everything we touch
We're disasters but we're oh so beautiful

it's simple really, nostalgia is buried in a melody
the same way humans are put in coffins--
deliberately heart-wrenching, a science.
an old transistor radio climbs lazily in the background,
buzzing, humming but then hear it--
blank stares as the road carries on, gradually,
slow mascara rivulets kiss cheeks like the intimacy long forgotten only to come rushing back--
songs that we said were ours were never ours to have,
an old familiar lyric that we claimed to spell destiny,
auditory memories that taunt and torture:
the chorus only instigates barbed thorns to lonesome hearts,
major chords aren't happy,
but cause discordance--
clenched fists on the steering wheel, you must pullover--
you can't pause or rewind, you can't stop--
yes, change the channel--
but the music still plays, and the riffs hang in your head,
remembered and reminisced over static--
but nothing is white noise when the final notes linger on your auditory palette,
the taste like the stare of a cold gravestone...

but even colder still,
the empty seat next to you.

I'm sorry that the pores that litter my untouched skin don't drip normalcy on everything my shaking hand tries, and fails, to grasp at.

I'm sorry that I'm not the mirror that you wished me to be.
when you looked into my eyes you hoped to see yourself,
but all you saw was broken pieces and sharp edges.

I'm sorry that you asked for galaxies and stars and I provided you with a black hole,
consuming my being in on itself,
leaving you cold and lifeless.

I'm sorry that I don't fit the mold that you've sculpted everyone else into,
I guess I'll remain a lump of clay,
unique not like the rest but also cold and quiet.

Maybe one day,
I'll stop being so sorry.

I cannot make this work without your help.
it's a whole lot like a school project; I'm the straight a valedictorian 4.0 and you're the sports star only in school so you can wear a jersey I am not a jersey to be worn.
when the project takes a turn towards sports you're interested but I do everyone else and I picked you as my partner after seeing what you can do I bring up the project you pale away you ignore me.
I cannot make this work without help and it hurts me that I can't have you.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.

Let him lie to be with you....
Let him shelter you from the news....

Let him teach you his own way....
Let him show you his hating ways....

Let him be your only friend....
Let him beat you when he can....

Let him teach you a life of blues....
Let him beat you black and blue....

Let him tell you it's his ways....
Let him feel you when he says....

He'll make you cry everyday....
He'll make you love his hated ways....

i.
there's something melancholy,
something tragically beautiful
about loving someone who doesn't love you

ii.
there is a certain sadness
of bleeding for someone who
wouldn't even shed a tear for you

iii.**
and there is a certain romance
to reaching out and falling to the floor
and falling for you and crying silent storms
of unexpected kisses and warm hugs.

lately, everything's been about you.
i'd see "closed" signs on antique shop windows
and eviction notices on apartment doors
and remember how it felt when you slammed the door on every possibility of us.
i'd see pens and papers and stop myself in the bookstore from throwing them on the ground and screaming "i used to be the one you write about". now i just find spare ones in my room that i can cry onto when no one's around. the ink seeps through my fingertips as i break the plastic case of every pen i lay my hands on and it's supposed to make me feel better but it doesn't. it just reminds me of the ink you injected in my veins and no matter how deep i cut i can't get it the **** out.

you grew something inside of me and i swear they're not flowers because they've been flourishing when i water them with *****.

i'd stare at streetlights and remember that one time you told me you'd  kiss me under every single one of them but here i am brushing my teeth so hard it bleeds every night because the only time i taste your lips now is when i'm dreaming.

and now here i am trying in vain to paint the sunset with the color of your eyes. i didn't want to forget how they lit up when you said "i love you" but maybe it was just a reflection of how bright mine were when you finally said those three words.

well, to be fair, you only told me you loved me. i guess it's my fault i assumed it meant you'd never leave.

Maybe the thumping of my heart had not matched
the clicking of your steps because only then would it
explain the havoc on the floor.
It's not your fault, I'm sorry;
it simply fell out of my sleeve and you trampled over it.
Nonetheless, I'm tripping over you once again
but all I find is the pavement to catch me as I fall.