One too many deaths like this one.

No, it’s not the workings of my imagination tricking me. There’s the past and the rose-colored threads that I pull from a tapestry of ****** reds. I know it wasn’t that good to begin with.

What do I miss, I ask myself as I play with the delicacy of a past death between my fingers. The moments of bliss were so little, the pain so great.

Would I come back, I ask myself again as the last piece of art that would know these hands burns in its absence. No, I wouldn’t.

I close my eyes, I’ve never really understood my masochistic mind. I step on the edge of a longing for a heart that never existed; one that cared, one that stayed, one that held me when the world turned into a despicable place.

For a moment I feel her hands around my neck, a caress that made me experience Heaven and Hell. Our moments play, they become a noose around my neck; and I jump.

Here I go again.

I see your name on street signs
and on coffee shop menus
in book dedications
price tags at grocery stores
and the credits of films

I see your name in subway ads
graffitied on bathroom walls
on receipts I don’t keep
the backs of cereal boxes
and mail left on counters

I see your name on headstones
in Wifi passwords taped to walls
library cards
wedding invitations
even divorce papers

I see your name scratched into desks
wet cement
faded concert tickets
on every form I fill out
and on every form I don’t

I see your name
in all the wrong places
just letters
cruelly arranged
in public

You wished upon a star
and got left out in the rain.
You gave it all your heart
and it just got broke again.

It just got broke again
Oh… It just got broke again.

You dressed unto the nines,
now I guess he’ll never see.
You painted a whole world, clearly it
is not meant to be.

Not meant to be.
Oh… not meant to be.

He let you down again
now you’re sick of this pain,
from Baltimore to somewhere
should you get onto that train?

Oh… get on to that train.
Oh… get on to that train.
Oh… get on to that train.

The last outpost of all there is,
muted colors of Rome burning;
my vast love no longer his,
looted, suffocated yearning.
.
It came sudden like lightning,
shook like spring thunder;
the flame of anger biting,
ripping me asunder.
.
I'm free, but displaced,
carried by a hurricane;
my tears - a waste,
buried with the pain.
.
And now, just emptiness,
stretching over scorched planes,
all-too-quiet heaviness,
poison in my veins.
.
I stand by its headstone,
this monumental thing,
mangled to the bone,
now dead and rotting.
.
Though finally I know:
there's no going back,
my feet fail to go -
paralysis attack.
.
Dismantled, worn down,
seared to the core,
managed not to drown,
but passed out on the shore.
.
And so, I wait, still silent,
for time to **** this last moment.
.

If only I could hate you, just a bit -
the lonely nights would hurt less;
It's always late when memories hit,
no trace of light in the darkness.
.
There won't be another love like this,
rare as diamonds in the ground;
I wish to join the abyss,
hide where I'll never be found.
.
Our broken edges used to fit
together like a hand and glove,
and I doubt I'll ever find it,
another gift from above.
.
No one else before or after,
has come close to what you were;
Silver bells of your laughter,
Pierce my heart still, like a burr.
.
You're gone, you've moved on,
living life as if we never were;
I'm on my own, a wounded fawn,
days merging in a blur.
.
I want to hate you, I swear,
you haunt me against my will,
yet foolishly, I still care;
a dark void nothing can fill.
.
I fall and fall, ever deeper,
crawl to try and escape,
you are my own Reaper,
eternal shadow in your shape.

You've said it before,
you don't like what you see
in the reflection of my eyes.
Maybe if I'd gauged them out,
you wouldn't be afraid to look inside.

When I looked into your eyes,
I didn't see myself,
I saw flowers.
And then you looked into mine
and saw only flaws.

I envy the rain,
for it can touch your pretty face,
trace your lips,
and rest upon your skin
ever so gently,
while I was never allowed
to touch you
as intimately as it does.

You never cared,
never tried,
you left me drowning
every time I cried.
Maybe, my tears
were all you could get,
the only way for you
to make me wet.

I wanted you to take me out on a date,
but you said you're too busy,
romanticizing your sadness.
I guess you need that sorrow
to write your music,
just like I needed my heart broken
by you
to write my poetry.