I’m not sure how much longer I can ignore the feeling in the
pit of my stomach whenever I talk to you.
I keep showing you too much of myself,
much more then I have shared in a while.
I haven't even felt you skin pressed against mine
and you almost know as much about me as my past lover.

What classifies “like”? When is it considered “love”?
I have a bad past with these words,
but can never seem to forget them.
I still remember the nights I found myself
sprawled over a toilet seat in my own home.
Choking on the memory of stranger’s empty promises.
Spitting up bile because of my inability to distinguish
between lust and love.
Will the time come when I don’t fear myself
longing for someone else’s touch?
Let me know if you have another, call me if you need
just a body.
I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be
used by you.
For now I'll be okay with only the butterflies
that arise every time you enter the room.
I just want to stop waking up on the cold
bathroom floor filled with only regret
from the day before.
I've searched too many nights at the bottom of
patron bottles for something that resembled
the feeling I get when you’re by.

Treat me like glass when I act
like rubber.
Don't run away when you bleed from
one of my sharp edges.
Feed my happiness with your laugh
and secrets.
I apologize for all the days I’m sad,
it’s a recurring mood in my head.
I’ll always be here for you,
even when you're sick in bed.
Pile your distress and worries on me,
the weight is harder to carry than you think.
In return I'll cry easily in your arms and
won’t hold anything back when I speak.
Don't raise your voice because your words
will only ring twice as loud
when I replay them in my head at night.
When it all ends another part of me will crack,
but I will never ever forget all the memories we had.
Your light touches will never resemble the smoke
embracing me in the dark.
The butterflies in my stomach won't be the same
when I'm dangling over bridge ways.
Your lips don't taste like grey goose and cranberries.
I'll have to keep reminding myself this
every once in awhile.
I hope you don't cope with loss the
way I do.
Anxiety filled blue nights will soon
resemble clear skies.
Once again,
love will pass over my eyes.