love is an ugly flame.
it burns your insides and you feel so hot
and excited.
it shows on your face when you blush.
i remember when you gave me such a flame,
but after all your mistakes and hurtful remarks,
you surely blew it out.
i am just an ember towards you
for you ruined me.
you cannot relight an unexisting candle
so please don't even try.

please don't try.

-k.m.

you said goodbye
effortlessly
you explained
with even breaths
and walked
with even steps
out of my door
and out of my life
i shakily said
"goodbye"
and i smiled
and pretended
that i
would be okay
but it's been five months
and it's like the sun
ceased to attend morning
or the ocean
refused to make waves
and the earth
forgot
how to roll into big beautiful hills
and mountains
and i
forgot
how to wake up and smile
or walk home by myself
i learned
to spend my weekends alone
and put my head down when i saw you
with them
and her
i was no longer them
or her
with you
no longer a tree in the words
but a ****
among pavement
and that was life
without you

So what they don't stop by.
So what they don't hear your cries.
So what they don't read your story.
So what they don't believe in your glory.

So what, life goes on.
You have everything, everything in your grasp.
So move upon what is and what's to come.
Don't take it personal. Think about it this way. You have more today, than you did on yesterday.

So what, you have to begin again. Take your time. Leap over that wall. Because at the end, you win.

You should never fall in love with a writer,
unless you're ready to.
Because what they do is,
they write about you.
About loving you whole;
flaws and all.
About kissing your neck,
no matter if you're tall.
They'll write how your skin feels,
and the butterflies within.
They'll write the tales of you,
and the scars on your skin.
They'll write about you,
like you've never seen before.
Because when a writer loves you,
they love your every pore.
So only love a writer,
when you're ready to see,
the things about yourself,
that you didn't want to believe.

The memories invade my mind, and no matter how hard I try to force them out, they linger. Haunting me, dragging me to my knees, screaming things at me that I know are true. I can't find myself, lost in the ocean of hatred, black waves rushing toward me and knocking me down. I fall; I always fall. I can't stand my ground in this never ending parade of solitude. I sit in the dark and I cry and I beg, but you won't hear me. You tune me out like static on an old radio; turn the dial and it's all forgotten. But I remember, and I will always remember. To take apart the deepest division of my sanity, it's the biggest tragedy I could endure. Yet somehow I'm still breathing, though my chest caved in long ago. And tell me; when you ripped my beating heart out of my chest and slowly crushed me to death, did you even feel bad about it?