you eat fruit that is
as sweet as the kisses she gives you,
as delicate and fragile as your heart,
which you rip out of your chest
and place in her warm pretty hands,
hoping she will think softly of you.

by the end of february
you get that pain deep in your marrow
as you watch her crush your heartbeats
and bruise them purple like a ripe peach does.

she walks away
with that cherry-red mouth
and you taste
the metal of blood in your throat.

you drive home while singing the sun anthem,
the anthem of you and her,
but it sounds more like a funeral march.

with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel,
with scraped-up knees and a broken wishbone,
you leave that idle town.

finding solace in the sugar of her lips
that still lingers under your tongue,
you swear you won’t look back
because you’ve had enough
of summer love.

(but next year
always comes.)

life is ironic
and it must really hate me.
talking about horoscope:
i can't say i'm a leo
without thinking about hazel eyes.
because the way i spell my sign
is the same i spell your name.

i swallow down my feelings.
fast.
uncontrolled.
all at once.
and when they start to make me sick
i bend over and throw them up.
i do this because
it’s all my bulimic heart has ever known.
the binge and purge,
the up and down.
the sweet flavor of ice cream
and the acidic smell of bile.
the biting more than it can chew
and the running for over a mile.

you and me;
we're grey area.
we're matches
before they're lit.
we're gasoline
before it's spilled.
we're words left unspoken.
we're subjects left untouched.

you and me;
we're dark matter.
we're blackholes,
unknown and frightening.
we're stardust,
lost and scant.
we're the calm before the storm.
we're the darkness before the dawn.

our hearts;
they beat in harmony
like the wings of a butterfly.
so gentle and innocent,
undoubtedly unaware
of the hurricane miles away.

our eyes;
they swallow one another
like they don't know better.
so fast and unforgiving,
binging and purging,
eating feelings as if they were pastries.

you and me;
we're grey area.
we're the comfort
of not knowing.
we're the benefit
of the doubt.
we're hearts left unscathed.
we're misery left unfound.

i lie awake in the dark.
the moths are dancing around my vision
and the flies are buzzing in my ears.
the moon looks round and pretty today,
the sky is clear and the stars can be seen.
i wonder
if you can see them too from where you are.
i wonder
if you mistake venus as one of them, like i do.
i wonder
if you feel like collecting them all and making them yours.
i wonder
if they lead you into thinking of me.  

the next day i sit alone
on that green bench, the one near the river.
i think about how life is ironic
for making you leave the day i arrive.
i think about dark roads and apocalyptic scenarios,
where i'm waiting for you to save me.
i think about how this town is a play
and we're its puppets:
playing along the rules,
dressing up as characters that’ll please the audience.

as the lights go out and the city sleeps,
i ponder if you like me for who i am
and if i love you for who you are:
if what i've seen of you
is a person or a persona,
one that makes me exaggerate and dramatize,
that makes me turn three memories into a million
and three days of summer into a year.
one that makes me drunk off sun and daydreams,
that makes me turn hello into i've missed you
and goodbye into i'll see you again.