i wrote about who i was, in the sand.
and put my pictures of us on the shore..
im sorry for being a stick in the mud
but
i just can't forget you.

at least
not
today.


maybe it's these memories
sitting atop my shoulders
and in the trees
hidden
in the leaves
entangled in my hair..

you always were a little catty
i knew you were wild
but you won't come down
from that tree
on my head
and i guess
i've
built this sand castle
for us
to sleep in
for
nothing
.

im tired.
okay.

i need at least another eight hours.

scratch that.

make it eleven. eleven more hours to be free of you.

i can't grow in this substrate that you've planted me in
you've filled my veins with sand
and im a bit too hard for everyone's liking these days...
(if you know what i mean.)


i need to sleep
but all i can think about is how much
i hate you
all at once and
not at all

i shouldn't have given you a chance but i let my guard down
and i let you water me with your crocodile tears.

pathetic.

i should have realized we were toxic but you soaked yourself into my veins
and now im growing on the false pretense that you loved me.

once.

maybe..?

you kissed me.
and i foolishly opened my mouth to let you in.  
but you bit down on my tongue
and your holding it hostage
and suddenly you've turned into the kids who kicked over my sandcastle that one summer
and laughed at me in tears

i was so proud of that **** sand castle.
*******.


k.

i need to sleep
and its only eleven in the **** morning.
i got four hours last night
because i woke up to you
sticking sandbags into my skin
and i broke my back getting up this morning
as i tried to breathe

so yeah,
i'll cry you a river
i'll cry you a ******* ocean if it makes you miles apart from my mind
my house
my bed
MY
skin.
my town.

god do
i miss the days when i didn't have to write poetry to cope with this bone-crushing feeling i get
when i see your ugly girlfriend

(who i made out with, might i add.)

she's fourteen years old
and you're going on nineteen.

nice.

i wrote poems in the sand of who i was before i met you
the things i wanted to do
the man i wanted to marry
the person i wanted to be
i told the shore all of my secrets
and you collected them like seashells.
a little memento of what you murdered somewhere on the left side of my chest
and you know what keep that old broken down thing
what the **** would i need it for anyways

if love means leaving bruises on someone's legs
and making someone scared to go outside of your arms
then i don't want it anymore.
scratch that.
ever again.

i keep stock of the good times
and keep count of the bad
write your name
and my heart out
in the sand

and come morning
the waves  have washed it all away.