I forget it all for a while-
until I get in the shower and feel the sting.
Little vibrations move along my hips, like a lover's hands around my waist.
I ease into the embrace, feeling the warmth of the only consistent in my life.
Everything else is a moving blur.

Water mixes with rain, from the morning's drive and when I pull over,
I realize that it was never rain, but my own tears,
and the tears I thought were rain turn into trails that twist and turn down my cheeks trying to find their way back to you.

And so I try walking down one,
but I stumble and fall,
and I would think to be lost in the forest
if it wasn't for that self inflicted stinging pulling me back to my shower turning cold.

I dreamt that I found you by the apple trees in my backyard.
That **** crow, pecking at your flesh.
I woke up and I cried.
I think it was then that I realised my heart no longer belongs to me.

I miss you.
I say it now and I'll say it tomorrow.
I'll repeat it every single day of my life,
And even when you're here or I'm there,
I won't stop missing you.

I walked down the street last Wednesday
And tried to imagine how your hand would feel clasped in mine.
I couldn't.

I'm afraid to sleep because I'm afraid to dream of you.
There is no difference between a dream or a nightmare;
They both make me long for you just the same.

Oh, what have you done to me?

like a walking silence
she steps into a lion's den
of sound

Keep out of the garden, son.
That's not the place to play.
You have fields as far as
sunny hillsides on a summer's day
with waves of wild wind
whimlessly rolling in the hay.

Keep out of the garden, son.
That's not the place to sleep.
You have quiet afternoons
to rest with lazy sheep
and build a dream of  crowning castles
that your mind will let you keep.

Keep out of the garden, son.
That's not your place today.

I can't tell if I'm shivering out of coldness or fear
or fear of being too cold.
Our bracelets broke on the same day.
The bittersweet irony is like swallowing a rose full of thorns.
My favorite shoes are getting holes in the toes-
you love something so much you **** it.

The first time she told me I was perfect,
I told her it was the *** talking.
but by the fifth time, the tables had turned,
except
I wasn't under the post ******* influence,
I was, in my own mind, completely sane.

Every single "you two are so cute"
is-
no, was-
a candy coated suicide pill-
sweet with a bitter aftertaste.

Fire rains on my skin
red ants trail in lines where her finger tips grazed my arms.
My eyes are burning and whether its from lack of sleep or I just got some reality caught in my iris,
I'm not quite sure.

Hurt, anger, uncertainty, betrayal-
at the hands of the one person I lent my knife to-
my own self.
The sheer stupidity of allowing the free thinking, independent rifle of my pen to be settled for even a minute.

So maybe I did nothing wrong,
and maybe soulmates just isn't in the dictionary-
but neglect sure is.

And unwashed hair smells a whole lot like yesterday's feelings and burnt coffee,
and maybe if I wash out today's feelings tomorrow, I'll be left with just keratin.
Or maybe perspective, masked in an intoxicating rose scent.