he is wrinkled shirts and clammy hands,
alcohol-breath and glazed eyes.
sometimes he looks like autumn
his chest falling as the leaves do
other times he is summer
full bloom and beautiful
but most of the time he is winter...
i think his heart is dying.
he is trying to ****** me
but i'm not dying for him anymore
he's the type of boy who'll only love you
till you love him back.
he tells you about the time his lips were almost on yours
and says he felt nothing,
you remember feeling euphoric
yet say you felt nothing, too.
he was the ocean;
beautiful
brutal
and not to be trusted.