“I trust you on this,” he says
but he doesn’t know that I’m haunted
by the idea
of stepping into another mans arms.

I watched my father leave a trail of love letters
throughout our two story house addressed to a secret lover.
I read them word for word
and admired his love
but hated that it was for another woman.
They say infidelity runs in the family,
like a deep rooted disease
and I’m afraid I am next.

I was the accomplice to the boy I loved
while he fooled another.
He stole midnight kisses from me
but returned every morning for her.
He stole innocence from me,
and happiness from her.
I was a chess piece to a boy
who was playing a very good game.

I am not my father’s daughter
I am not his past mistakes,
but I hold my own wrong doings
and they lead me to unfaith.

I would slit my throat
and hang myself to dry
before I followed my father’s footsteps,
but before you say you trust me
just know what lies in my veins.

Each time you wrap your
long arms around me,
it's as if you are trying to let me
borrow your skin.
So I let myself burrow myself inside you
and hide for about
four hours,
if I'm fortune.
And when I awake I find the need
to bend over and
spew out everything that happened last night
as if I can not handle who I am trying to be.
But I know each time
you wrap your arms around me
you are fine with letting me
be me.

I can see right through you.
You hide behind walls with thick bricks,
behind a sheet of mean,
underneath a blanket of humour.
You are as thin as the shear light that shines through the clouds
(you are transparent, I see right through you).

You have memories that have
punched holes through your bones
and made you break,
but you built yourself back up using rusty nails and tape.
You have stories that you've never told
but I've pieced together enough to know,
some of your secrets are never coming out
(but I would listen if you wanted me to hear).

I can see right through you like a worn out sheet.
I don't care that you're transparent,
I'll cover you up.
I'll patch up the pieces after I've cracked them open
(we all need to be cracked open).

I'm sorry I wasn't there
I'm sorry I wasn't there
I'm sorry I could never be there
(I'll always be there)

When I crawl in through the back door
at three o'clock in the morning,
the scent of you still lingers
and hangs off my clothes.
When I turn on the shower and
scrub at my skin,
I can still feel your finger tips
dancing their way down my thighs,
up my arm,
across my spine.
When I lay my head of my pillow
at approximately 3:37,
the world is still spinning
and alcohol is pumping through my blood
but all I can see is the outline of your face in the dark,
despite you being miles away.

It can take
2 hours,
5 hours,
a good nights sleep,
maybe even more,
to get alcohol out of your system.
But it's going to take
much more than time,
to remove you from mine.

These last three years have been a prime example
of why not to fall in love,
because it takes too many months to piece your heart back together
after it has been beaten to death by a boy
with pretty brown eyes and charming words.

But if I could promise myself anything,
it would be that the next time I let another touch my lips
they will have to jump high fences and run marathons
before they earn that right.
The next time I let someone hold my hand
I want a five page essay on their theories of love
and a detailed description on how not to break a heart.
When another boy whispers sweet things into my open ears,
I will hook him up to a lie detector
and wait to see his lies.

Because the next time I trip and fall into love,
it'll be forever.
The next time I feel like dragging a blade across my wrists,
I'll kiss your lips instead.
When I feel like putting a rope around my neck
and hanging myself out to dry,
I'll pick up the phone and let you whisper sweet words into my ear.
The next time I have a bottle of pills staring me down after midnight,
I'll grad your hand and let you take me away.
When I feel lost or let down or like I've reached the end of my already short rope,
I'll turn to you.

Winter is brewing inside of me,
even on a hot summers day.
A snow storm festers inside of my heart,
You can't get in
and you can't get out.

It’s not fair to you or I
that I lay here letting my words fester inside of me
while you lay on the other side of the bed,
tired and waiting.
It’s not fair to you
that someone else made me close off my heart
to them, the world, and you.

Winter is brewing inside of me
even when I have you to keep me warm.
Spring is starting in my heart,
and I can’t let it out.