i wish that i never found poetry in the way your lust dripped off of me.
the way you cared. ( you did right? ) the gently rough ways you had.
in a way, i wish that i never payed attention to all these details. i remember too much. i really don't think about you anymore, but when i do, i remember it all. i can't help it, it's like when i'm with you i analyze everything. the curve of your shoulder, the way you look at me, that cute laugh you have. oh, that smile. that smile was melting.
i just wanted to feel like i was at home, but you can't pretend when your home is a *****.
i wish you were around to tell me to stop smoking, to tell me about these terrible guys i find myself talking to. i wish i could talk to you. i could just talk. sometimes i wish i wouldn't have.
but you see here, you fuel the poetry hidden under my fingertips, the way i see cigarettes or uno or the color pink. the way i look at the moon is never the same, maybe that's why i don't anymore. my birthday marks one more year of the worst decision of my life, a constant reminder i have never been enough. whenever i see a car like yours i hope that it's you in it, i might act like i don't care around anyone else, but i can't deny that my heart picks up pace and i find myself looking. how pathetic really, the fact that you fuel my poetry and i can't even be a single thought in your head.
tell me honestly, was this just a weird, sick dream i had? or did you really not care.