i'm driving down the road listening to the songs you used to listen to and for a second it feels like you're still here with me, like you're still present. the moment is still, and you never left.
then i feel the air drift through the window and it reaches my hand and grabs it the way you would have if you are there and i am reassured that my lover is only a ghost these days.
some nights i scream at the lines in the center of the highway for being too perfect and i bet she's spending her night same way, only screaming about how perfect you are while you lay her down gently.
some mornings i wake up with this weight laying on my chest, on my lungs, holding me down from enduring the day. she's probably holding you down with that same weight on your chest, but with a good morning kiss. the ones you would accept from me.
there are small bits of blood on my carpet and i don't remember how they got there.
all i ever will be is a concept to get them through their nights, to get them through their lows, to give them their highs.
when i met you, i painted the walls of my heart with what i thought love looked like and they never really dried.
my veins tell stories better than my lips, and my tears have more lust than anything near my hips.
i keep having these nightmares and I keep "waking up" from them but they never go away.
does she have pretty fingernails?
i wrote an apology for not being sane enough on my chemistry text last wednesday and i tried to rewrite it on my wrist but you couldn't really make out the i'm sorry's, they looked more like i'm sad's so maybe i should have used a pen instead.
it's 12:52 a.m. and all i can think about is how she's probably beside you, and you're probably telling her all the empty promises you left me with and she's probably eating them for the fourth time with the seventh guy in eleven months and i'm sorry that i wasn't enough.
please don't ever talk to my tombstone.