i want to touch
your body
like a man in heat —

rub fingers up your legs .
kiss peach butter lips,
and make you
sing,

i wasn’t made to be in love ,
i think .
.
i was made to be
loved :

like a feather, or
a death.

i will run
my entire life.

we bloom in summer.

I believe I was in love before.
A burst of warmth,
like a gust of wind in the summer.
A joy that clouds the mind and makes it fuzzy.
Yes, I believe I was.
For how else can I explain the tears?
The pain when it ended?
The anger I was DENIED to express without causing further damage?
The sickness that penetrated so deep I could not eat for days.
Yes, I was in love,
but now it's a vague memory.

i might as well just devour you ,
now that you’ve
                           shredded my stomach
and laughed .
                        .

i never would’ve guessed
that
you
would take
a knife to my heart ,
and then rev up an engine —

a chain.

but
im sick of looking at your face ,
sick of
thinking of you ,

                           and
                                  sick of smiling
from my grave.
.

i guess we can say
you stole that from me too .

but
you are proof ,
that
even demons need to eat —

and this one
is very ,
             very
hungry.

Remember that time
I told you I'd felt
like a plant recently?
I'd gone out
and soaked up some sun
after those dark winter months.
The feeling  is
the same when I think
of seeing you again.
To hear that sparkle of a voice
the light of your touch.
You are radiant,
and I a faithful stalk of green.

Sometimes love isn't what you need.

You can't always speak.

It's tiring,
to say the same spiel all the time,
lying isn't much better,
but the truth isn't an option.

It would hurt,
and we're already miles apart from where we began,
and I don't want to live without you in my life.

So sometimes I can't.

Please,
let's just sit here in silence a little longer.

So I can choke down the misery,
and smile for you.

Like a friend,
instead of someone who so hopelessly adores you.