It's been 14 days since I've heard your voice and 12 since you last said you loved me.
God, we said we knew what love was, but I was always sitting in my room with ***** bottles scattered along the floor and empty cans of sugary drinks which ensured I spent the next 10 hours of headache loving you in a blurry daze.

And you were god knows where, kissing dark eyed girls who tasted like cigarettes and smelled like roses.
I hope her hands reminded you of me and when her voice slurred from the mickey of Jack she was drinking an hour ago, I hope you ran to the bathroom and washed off all the things you never said to me.
I hope that when you woke up beside her with your breaths tangled and your air conjoined, that you couldn't breathe without gasping because you remembered that I'm at home carving your name into trees.
I really should stop that, I don't have to ruin beautiful things just because you ruined me.
We used to lay on your couch and listen to each other's heartbeats through the lining of our chests.
I'm not so sure you would be able to hear mine anymore.

               Please come back.