These last three years have been a prime example
of why not to fall in love,
because it takes too many months to piece your heart back together
after it has been beaten to death by a boy
with pretty brown eyes and charming words.

But if I could promise myself anything,
it would be that the next time I let another touch my lips
they will have to jump high fences and run marathons
before they earn that right.
The next time I let someone hold my hand
I want a five page essay on their theories of love
and a detailed description on how not to break a heart.
When another boy whispers sweet things into my open ears,
I will hook him up to a lie detector
and wait to see his lies.

Because the next time I trip and fall into love,
it'll be forever.
The next time I feel like dragging a blade across my wrists,
I'll kiss your lips instead.
When I feel like putting a rope around my neck
and hanging myself out to dry,
I'll pick up the phone and let you whisper sweet words into my ear.
The next time I have a bottle of pills staring me down after midnight,
I'll grad your hand and let you take me away.
When I feel lost or let down or like I've reached the end of my already short rope,
I'll turn to you.