Citrus, rosemary and peppermint (from the hot chocolate you hate)
under the Christmas lights (of the mall you hated),
these memories, push them out.

Our laughter at your stupid jokes ( I hated),
stolen glances, and a given kiss,
amongst the cold outdoor desert air.

Poets of passion,
writing stories of love on our skin,
a language of desire and longing.

Your ink forever stains my heart,
a reminder, that I am not happy,
that I am not good enough,
that I am forever mourning.

My heart which longs to fickle,
it longs to belong, someday, find another.
Yet it is chained, with a fragile ember,
amongst your ink that stains it.
That refuses to die, that you are alive,
you are breathing, you are here, you never left.
( I hate myself)
(I hate myself)
(I am a fool)
I wish to hear your stupid joke, "what did the horse say. . ." (what a stupid joke) once more.