I thought of you today...
****...
It’s been at least a year...

Thanks to Halsey...
But I can’t complain..
Music is beautiful that way..

In the sense where a song can be so beautifully written, with lyrics that depict all the things you experienced, and especially all that you wanted to say but couldn’t.

****...
(I hold back a laugh...)
This is kind of painful...
I shake you off.
My heart only associates you with pain.
I won’t let myself go back there.
But I can’t deny these lyrics.....
Because they were our story for the longest time...


I am speechless because I never expected a song to pull that ******* the heart strings of my past.

Quite suddenly
They become aware
Of the fragility
Of the jugular vein
No bone no cartilage
Not much flesh either
To protect and shield it
How we humans just
w a n d e r about
With no armour
Simply not realising how easy it'd be
For someone to just
S  L  I  C  E
And down we would go
Spraying blood over all in vicinity
Life blood is warm and dark red.
In other words-
Beautiful in the morning light
Where it shines like prismatic rubies
Warm, and not at all  demonic.
Don't you think so, my love?
The colour suits you...

i'm searching for something that i can't reach

she sleeps irregularly. she cries and breathes all at the same time
but does not make a sound. her face falls apart every morning when
she realizes she is still alive. the anger coursing through the blood
vessels in her body is not caused by anything, it comes rapidly and
mockingly. she counts to ten and holds the air inside her lungs and
hopes to any being listening that her nose stops working so that the
air inside her can expand and then eventually diminsh so that she
can tear herself apart all over again. she eats unhealthy. stuffing salty
fries and refrigerated microwaved chicken down her throat and forcing
the urge to throw it all out down to her skeleton so that the food
remains in her body, making bumps in her stomach and sticking
out of her ribs like unwanted monsters. she likes being ugly. she likes
that no one ever notices her and when they do they don't say a
word she likes that her own body betrays her and punishes her eyes
when she wakes up in the morning and realizes she is still alive.
she is a phantom. she is a ghost. she is a whisper. knowing her will not
be an adventure it will be a maze filled with poisoned leaves and razor
sharp rocks. her smothering brown eyes will captivate you and
undo every single knot in your body and make you feel like gravity
does not exist. but she will not be pretty. she will never be beautiful.
touching her will be like trying to collect shards of glass off of the floor
from a bottle of wine that you accidentally dropped. she will not
love you. she will not love herself. she will only convince you that she is
happy being a mess, a disaster and you will have no
choice but to believe her because your love is short lived and
only exists when she feels worthless and lonely enough to want
your company. you know this. she knows this. neither of you will
say it. the truth is an ancient phonebook neither of you have
ever heard of. *she is not a hurricane, there is no eye in her

(h.l.)

i light matches on non flammable things and start fires i
cannot extinguish, i start all consuming love and then tear it apart
viciously and tiredly and try to put back the pieces of my heart
in this sacred chest at the bottom of wherever my skeleton ends
because that is where it belongs, alone and protected
you were a cigarette i denied myself the pleasure of smoking you
were an old record player that i would dance to by myself
at 2 am just because and you were strawberry hill wine in the
middle of the park that tasted agonizingly sweet on my tongue
and scorched my throat into believing this was happiness
i still whisper your name whenever i drive by your house in prayer
that i will never see you again, you are still a ghost in the corner
of my mind and i have a feeling you will always be

(h.l.)

he is not heaven. he is not a deep breath of fresh air after being
trapped inside for so long he is suffocation. when his saturated fingers
touch me I am filled with a never ending fire that keeps me
awake until two a.m. and makes me question everything I've
ever believed. he likes to swear up and down on the metal cross
around his neck and pretend he is God when he looks at me.
his kisses are never filled with love they are filled with narcotics
and taste like a bittersweet kind of hatred. he smokes quietly and
slowly inhaling every toxic fume and making clouds
big enough to convince you that they are skies. everything about him
screams shades of cool he is blue he is black his smile is gold
his eyes are grey and he is the color spectrum at its darkest.
he speaks quietly and laughs loudly and cries silently when
he thinks nobody can hear him. I wake up every morning to the
sound of tiny bullets of water scorching his back but he
likes the burn so I do not say a thing. he loves the way I sing
and teases me endlessly and whispers ****** things when
our friends are around because he is an exhibitionist.
I do not know what this is. I do not know who he is.
but at the same time I do not know who I am either,
we are cataclysmic together and wreak havoc wherever we go
but there is something so beautiful about what a disaster
we are together that i do not want to say goodbye.
he is the lover I never have to worry about loving back
and that if nothing else matters

(h.l.)

11.25.15