I'll never forget how good she was with words.
How her tongue cut sharp and spit and
dripped with poetic justice.
I read her lines and watched her lips
while mine were blurred and she slipped my grip.

I cant stand our imperfection.
Shes a perfectly perfect person
perpetually portraying pain...
or maybe thats mine in the reflection of her eyes.
Our love was filled with nights up trying, lying awake, inevitably dying.
but who am I to fake cause all those nights I called fate were more like lessons we make and take and we thought otherwise but I bet most could relate.
We weren't a mistake, leaving each other was the only one we made.