i'll be your beer-soaked, ashed on bar,
i'll be your cloudless night sky
in january, baby.
so cold it burns.
i'll be your pirate ship
and your shores,
your weapon of mass destruction
and all the mountains i could level,
i'll be the pack of cards
we lost
under your bed.
i will be your final resting spot,
your casket and your headstone.
"Here lies someone who was
torn by love
so many times
it's a miracle we could bury his body."
honey i tried so hard to be your
candle in the sun.
light against light.
something so clean about it.
but i just got turned into
the north wind that
caresses your shoulders
on the walk to class.
not even noticeable
anymore.
not even raising goosebumps
on your
spine.