i have decided that
it is better to die than to speak.
all my lips want to do is lie in bed with his,
lazy hazy days doing nothing but touching,
but i will keep them closed
as we go from this world to the next.
did i really think i could fall in love with my best friend?
that i would be loved in return?
that there could be a happy ending?
that i could continue to breathe without loving him?
oh... my heart feels frozen.
i cannot possibly move on,
but this current state will **** me.
i have to do something
i know i must.
but is it worth losing the best person in my life?
everyone has disappointed me, but him the least
and how can i just pack it all up and say goodbye
to some of my happiest moments?
under the covers
with sloppy drunk kisses
toes tickling toes
and hands on the warm parts.
this is the worst feeling.
my lips are fighting to stay closed against the waves of words on my tongue.
i see him and i turn to dust
like a forgotten city that waited too long in the sun.
i'm writing my own love spells,
last ditch efforts to pray something into existence
when there is no life to be had
in between our little hearts.
this love will pass.
it must.
so i will wait for the wind to carry this love away from me,
and i will not speak again until it does.

but he's not just a friend!
we crossed that line in a hazy, sweaty, drunken accident.
and my heart cannot possibly forget it,
even if, it seems, his can.
when he tells me how he touched another
in the same way he touched me,
and it meant nothing to them,
but everything to me.
and the times, they are a-changing.
because when it began it was just late night passion,
just twice before we got weird and scared
and suddenly our friendship was forced.
and then it began again,
and it was my whole world:
biting and kissing and laughing against his chest,
warm and kind.
love is blind.
but the gods are not, and they have made me love him
as a cruel turn of mindless entertainment.
this is my life with which they play,
and i feel like the girl in the music box,
stuck twisting to a pretty tune.
timeless and melancholy.
he makes me dizzy
in the best ways.
and i want to be his friend if that's all i can get,
so i keep my mouth shut and wait to see if he will love me.
and the cynic in my mind tells me he never will,
but the romantic in my heart tells me he soon will.
his mother loves me,
so why can't he?
"is it better to speak or to die"
apparently, to speak.
but no, my lips will not part for words
only to kiss him again and again.

i am holding tightly onto the belief that
if i keep the words to myself,
they will not become real.
because if i say them aloud
my fate becomes public property,
and i do not trust the world with the contents of my heart.
but i am losing the ability
to keep the seams from bursting.
and i cannot deny the truth to myself.
oh, my heart is so full of love for him!
my best friend, the one who sees my sorry mind
and the poor jokes and the past pain.
my favorite drunk kiss.
i knew all along that i could never let him touch me like that
and just go back to normal.
in the late summer heat he kissed my neck
and my grip on reality has slipped,
slowly,
as the leaves fell and the winter winds bit my lips.
infrequently tracing his fingers on my thigh,
smiling with a secret shining through his teeth.
my heart is all his if he would just pick it up
but it lies at his feet and he stoops down
and fakes me out,
my breath catching in my throat with anticipation.
and then he stands back up.
and sometimes he goes to someone else for the night.
and that pain is like pressing a bruise.
but i would give all the rest up,
let him bruise me in the worst ways
if it meant he would bruise me in the best ways.
i think he's afraid, even more than i am.
when the alcohol seeps through our judgement
and passes from his skin to mine
all i want is for time to freeze,
or to keep moving, but with him as mine
and me as his.
oh... if he would call me his...
my heart could stop happily.
and i wish i weren't so pathetic for him,
or that i was, but only if he were equally pathetic for me.
i know i can't breathe anymore without loving him.
and that is a terrible knowledge
when he is just a friend.

all i have is my laughter
because i'm the idiot with trust issues
the idiot who trusts everyone and
they hurt me every time and
i still come back for more!
it's my fault:
i let him bend me over,
hand locked in my hair,
grinning and lovebit and vulnerable.
and right then he ****** a knife into my back.
i can still feel the blade
twisting and snarling and making fun of
the girl with the ****** holes
framing her spine.
no i know, it's my fault
because i trust no one even though i trust everyone
and i trust that i'll trust again
for you i was a flame...
and i can be again i know i can
because i live in this bruise of a cycle
and i can't seem to break out of it
so i get backstabbed and live to tell the tale,
again and again and again