She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.  
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”

Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"

People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.

Its not so much sadness more the disappointment of thinking I meant something to you and thinking that if I smiled wide enough you would notice my lips and that would make you think about kissing me because all I really wanted was for you to kiss me, but thoughts like that they ricochet off the walls in your head like lead bullets until they fall away into pieces and the impulse was so fleeting it was barely even there, but I still have the image of your lips and your skin branded into my mind and filling my head like wine and I want to get drunk on you and everything that we could have been. But with your blue eyes and my brown hair we were like night and day and when it came to love I was a summer's day and you were December 5th when it snowed and snowed and my lips went blue and you could have made them warm again but your heart didn't beat like mine and now mine is a weak drum beat and yours pounds for someone else and with all this spilled ink that you'll never see I wish you would have just kissed me.

I am the pen without the ink
The ocean without water
The night without stars
I am void
Empty, lonely,
A black hole
Of turmoil and hate
I've always had love to blame
But with this emptiness
That sits in my chest
I've learnt that I really dont like you
But I'll forgive you
Because I love you
I love you.

Do you ever get those days? When the only thought running through your mind is 'I want to go home'
But you are home. You are in your bed with lungs that don't feel like yours and a pulse that sounds more like a drum and you can't hear anything but your own intrusive thoughts and you want to go home. To a skin that doesn't feel like a strangers and to a heartbeat that doesn't sound like his or hers or theirs and you can't, you can't, you can't just simply 'Go Home.'