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.

You say you've moved on,
but she has my face,
my hair,
and my snorty laughter.

When I first saw her,
just for a moment,
I thought that she was my long lost twin
and that you found her
just to bring her back to me.

I was only fourteen,
and you were the first boy
to ever compliment me.
Then I blinked,
and suddenly, I was twenty-four,
and you were the last man
to break my heart.

I should have
punched you
the first time I saw you.
A broken hand
would have been better
than a broken heart.

I'm made of cobwebs, shaded grays,
echos faded by the murky streetlight;
Festive blobs signal the holidays -
and ricochet off me into the night.
.
A thick, dull fog 'tween me and them,
a brick wall no one can see;
seamless weights in my hem,
and dust inside what used to be me.
.
And then there's you, a year away,
waisted tears, and prayers null;
an end thought for each void day,
a whisper-scratch in my old hull.
.
The words avoid me, skittish things,
like birds that flutter fragile wings;
the right ones are only fledglings,
too young for new beginnings.
.
And I wish that I could care for cold,
worn out flat 'tween mortar and pestle,
a forlorn growth ring in a tree of old,
trapped inside a rotting vessel.
.
.