I asked u if u like me
but u left me no response
u seemed interested
and it supposed to meant something
but now it means nothing.
we could've been something
all the mess you left me
turned in pain

When the sky meets the ocean,
the sun screams your name.
all you hear is the faint whisper of what used to be my voice against your chest.
at three in the morning, you woke up to the sound of me shattering your mother's vases.
you begged me to stay.
I broke a few plates and cut my throat on the gravel in my voice.
I slept with you the rest of the night anyway.
upon packing my bags I came across the letter you wrote me that compared my eyes to a storm.
i think i smudged the ink when i spilled jack daniel's all over your bed.
your t-shirt that goes just down to my thighs doesn't fit anymore. I wanted to give it back but it's still in the bottom of my suitcase.
when you dropped me off at my mother's house
she asked about you.
"how is she?"
I told her I didn't know who she was talking about.
we sat there and cried for a long time.
when my dad came home he saw me and smiled.
"I thought you'd never come home."
I just gritted my teeth and told him that home is long past gone.
I sleep in my bed alone, sometimes I sleep on the couch.
it's hell without you but red fire is better than blue.
last weekend you called me.
I thought I heard you say
"my arms are still open" but
it was probably just the ***** talking
my head spins without you
& it hurts to stand up.
I saw that post of you and her
she looks happy and Ive never
seen your eyes look so green.
I think she kissed you
but I dont think about it
when I saw you at the hospital
you looked at me funny.
"fancy meeting you here"
is such an ironic thing to say
while im lying in a cold bed;
****,
they're all cold without you.
I told you about the shower I took,
how it should've been my last but
they made me shower this morning.
you held my hand  
& it made me wonder
why I wasn't dead.
I guess the memories in
my blood didn't come out all the way.
my mom accidentally washed your t- shirt
& I didn't get mad
im glad you're gone
even if it looks like a hurricane
without you.
the story of abandonment gets longer every day
come home, I miss you

I don't want to be a secret
I want to be shown off
I want you to want to tell people about me
I want you to want me..
I know you care
At least seem too
But I want you to be proud of it
Not ashamed because people are arseholes.

He hurts people.
Not by choice, no, but by design.

He’s like a kitchen knife or a razor.
Hurting people is not what he was made for,
But looking at the way they work,
You’d never be able to tell that.

Hurting people, for example, is not what a razor was made to do,
But it’s very good at it.
And a kitchen knife wasn't made to ****,
But with a blade like that,
Few things are more effective.

He wasn’t made to hurt people,
But when his mind interprets every breath you take as scripture,
And the way he finds earthquakes in your heart beat,
And how when even on the coldest nights
He manages to find warmth in the way your eyes glow like the moon,
How he wonders what it’s like to be your favorite hoodie,
Or how long your smell will linger after you’ve left,
How by nature his thoughts compare fire to your touch,
And ice to your lips,
When you ask him how his day was and he genuinely can’t remember
Because the sound of your voice was the first thing he felt all day,
You’d never be able to tell.

Yes, He will admit it.
He has edges sharper than razors,
And a mind that will cut you into a million fall leaves of every shade of fire.
But he wasn’t made to hurt people.
He just does by design.