the day you leave is the day ill throw away my chapstick
my tears will become a moisturizer for lost hope
and each time a tiny crack appears i'll wish you would make it better
the day you dont pull me into you when you kiss me is when ill throw away my lotion
i would hope that our combined moisture will drench the inside of my thighs just fine
there is no backup plan or rebound
i've never been one to run with one ball
or to chase someone with something i so desperately want
how will i explain to my children why my favorite number is thirteen?
its almost as if im waiting for heartbreak
it seems inevitable with a brain like mine
so full of "what if" and "you know whats weird?"
without you all i have to look forward to is highschool teenagers finding the pattern of my sad in all of my writings