I broke it off with the love of my life  
Two weeks after I started a second full time job
Which would have given me enough money
To rescue him.
When I had told him,
His eyes fluttered away from mine
Like a parent's would
And being twelve years older than me,
I guess he had room to look at me like that.

What do you do when the one person who you care about
More than Kubrick or living
Decides he does not want to
Put you in a position where
You have to take care of him
Even though you've always been the adult in the situation
And you've grown quite fond of it?
What do you do when not even a week after the parting
You find yourself
Growing attached to another walking disaster
Who's body may quake when you touch him
But who's skin crawls with the ghosts
Of lost admiration
Under your fingertips?
In a world where I was made out to be a goddess
I am now just another cog in the bougeouise high-earning machine.
I let love make me it's victim and now
I am the Greek goddess of regret
And I am fascinated by the way men ruin themselves.
He told me he didn't want me to have to be
The person who is constantly drowning in work
Just to keep our heads above water
But I would have walked to hell and back
Barefoot
If it had meant helping him and staying with him.

Today I woke up in the same bed as my new love
And when my fingers grazed his bronzed
And toned back,
I looked for your scar
And it wasn't there
And I panicked.

Tomorrow I will wake up in bed alone
And I will look for my own scars
And I will find them
Stretching across all the skin you caressed
And the heart you left in shambles
And I will rejoice in being home.

•

Distance does matter,

                        When it comes to worldly relationships.




                                    But it doesn't matter at all,

                                  When it is a God-centered one.





As long as you connect each other to God,

  
                                  Then He will concatenate and secure,

                    Your hearts and souls together,



And He will surely,

          Give you miracles,

                      That'll show and prove you,




                                                       ­                    How He will find a way,

That you both will be together.



                           © Earl Jane
                             ♥ E.J.C.S.

The summer sun is warm
and fragrant on my skin
and I'm the happiest I've ever been
right before the first time
you leave me.

The second time,
the cold is sharp and ruthless
and tastes like emptiness
and I saw it coming
days, maybe weeks in advance.

Neither time is better than the other,
but then again,
neither one is worse,
like comparing death by fire
to death by falling from a height;
death is death
and the time to dwell on it
is the true meaning of hell.

There won't be a third time.

I say this every time
our song comes on the radio
or
I see your favorite flower
or
someone happens to wear
your fragrance of choice.

What are the odds, d'you think?
If I tattoo it on my wrist
THERE WON'T BE A THIRD TIME
and I write it on every flat surface I own
THERE
WILL
NOT
BE
A
THIRD
TIME
which is more likely:
you kiss me and I push you away
or
a piano falls on my head?

I'm hoping for a piano, honestly.

At least then I can imagine
the last time you leave me
is at my wake
and this time
this time
you cry.

They say that suicide is just exhaustion
from trying to be strong,
or brave,
or happy.
From trying to have hope
when everything seems hopeless
and everything is falling apart.

Every night I'm exhausted
from this part I play
day in and day out ––
from hopelessly trying
to make anything work out
when everything I touch falls to pieces.

They say you need something to hold onto,
but the only thing keeping me going
is this playlist sent to me
by a guy who doesn't even care anymore ––
maybe he never did ––
because you don't leave someone hanging
when you know they're hanging by a thread.

Every night I pray
to fall deep asleep
and never have to face another day.
Or to wake up and drive
to a place brand new
where no one can touch me ––
not even you.

Nothing pleasant happens here.
I'm asking you to stay
but telling you to leave.
I don't want to be alone,
but I want you to be happy.
and if you stay,
you should know
nothing pleasant ever happens here.