What can I say?
You didn't read the warning label.

Dangling from the ceiling, fluorescence like drunken accents dripping from the tongue, the fallacies we fashion into stars and let hang in our eyes, etc etc.

You know the story. You were there,

how in that light,
we almost looked human,

the city screaming around us, the dusty night engulfing everything.

I mean, even zippers have teeth,

so slam the window shut. Slam the door. Slam and slam and slam until my name doesn't matter anymore,

your eyes like the barrel of a gun, your eyes like headlights.

I'll be doing the same,

taking pictures out of their frames. It feels different that way, a naked memory.

doing the laundry, cutting up the furniture, spotlights for the spotlights. I know

you liked to think yourself a martyr for our love. I wish someone would've shut you up,

the skin in my teeth from chasing my own tail. You never forget the taste of blood.

*******, darling.
I have more important things to feel guilty about.

How do I begin to explain that I cry when I hear your name if I never want you to feel sorry?
How do I speak of the horrible things I wish had been done to me back when I was at my worst?
I can remember choking on sobs and bleeding on all my pretty white clothes
But I can never remember the way it feels to be loved.
Maybe I never really was loved, though it seemed that way he left and only memories remain.
And I don't miss him but I ******* miss the warmth and comfort he provided when I was at my breaking point.
I don't know how to not feel guilty about wanting to die and maybe it's a good thing because maybe it'll keep me alive
But I cry myself to sleep some nights and I can't remember a time when I felt alright.
And though I feel numb I'll bite my tongue because I don't want you to feel bad,
You can't control your emotions and it's not your fault that I can't remember being anything but sad.

It's nobody's fault.

Get out of my house

You have your own
Right next door
You have your own walls to decorate and your own furniture to arrange

Get out of my house

You’re starting to freak me out
How you come inside like you live here and sort through my jewellery and clothes
I don’t remember inviting you in

Get out of my house

I can barely recognize my own rooms after you’ve been here
What have you done?
Why are you here?

Get out of my house

You ******

she's got fire in her veins,
smoke on her lips,
and blood staining her fists.
but her mind is wrapped in chains,
and scars mark her hips;
sometimes she forgets she even exists.

i'll never forget the universe i saw in your eyes,
the look which sparked a flame inside of me,
a flame that no else could spark up,
not even with a million tries.

you will always mean the world to me,
my love for you,
will always be a secret held by the sea,
because i've stopped leaving clues.

even so;

don't you dare forget the nights we've spent,
i'm craving for your scent,
i'm still addicted to your smile,
but your number is something i've lost the courage to dial.

used to get drunk with you,
now i get drunk on you,
tried to escape you by getting intoxicated,
but missing you became ten times worse and i guess it's fated.

it's my fate; for everyone will eventually leave me,
for everyone will eventually get tired of me,
for i am not worthy enough and only loneliness will be there for me.


"you are my shooting star wish", he said.
was i really?
maybe we've completely misunderstood what shooting stars are.
maybe shooting stars are just the cigarettes angels throw away before god could catch them smoking.

i'm starting to think that's what i really was.
maybe i am your shooting star.
maybe i was just a cigarette that you were done smoking so you threw me away before you caught on fire.

Roller
          co
            as
              t
              ­ e
                 r
                      
                    f                   ­             
                        a                      
   ­                           s                
                                     t            
orslowitdoesntseemtomatter

                         N
                      W
  U               O
     P        D
          &
                                We hit the
{}{}{}{}{G}{}{R}{}{O}{}{U}{}{N}{}{D}{­}{}{}{

But never seem to *sh\at\ter

he was terrified of the dark,
and so he chased the sunset across the horizon
stumbling after it with aching ankles
and clinging to the sunset’s wrist,
fearful that he would trip
stumble
fall behind
be left alone and feel the cold soak his bones
this lover of the light ran himself into exhaustion and,
tripping,
stumbling,
fell behind
to be left alone
but the sunset stilled, blazing across the sky,
to lift the desperate, ardent disciple of its rays
into its arms,
and carried the poor straggler
until he no longer feared, nor knew, the dark.

you made a poet fall in love with you:
did you expect her not to fill pages
with how she felt for you,
did you expect her not to spend ages
trying to find the right words for you
(and none seemed beautiful enough);
you made a poet fall in love with you,
did you expect her not to make you her muse,
did you expect her not to write about you
the way she writes about everything she adores?
you kissed a poet goodnight after every date:
did you expect her not to scribble verse after verse
choppy stanzas about the way your lips felt on hers;
did you expect her not to gush about it
to her best friend - even if it was a piece of paper;
did you expect her not to make that feeling,
and the promise it made, the promise of you,
into the only art she was capable of
- because that's what you were, to her?
you made a poet fall in love with you,
and when you broke her heart in two,
did you expect her not to write about it
when that was the only catharsis she knew?
did you expect her not to splatter ink over pages,
hastily, the way she wished her blood could spill;
did you expect her not to write about your skin
on hers, into a notebook, at 2 a.m.
while you were drinking beer and laughing with a friend?

you made a poet fall in love with you,
and expected her not to make her art about you;
you broke a poet's heart, you shattered it,
and you expected her to walk away from it,
without any lines written about
how it tears her apart and
how you still have her heart --
you made a poet fall in love with you,
and when you broke her apart,
expected that to be all, but that's not who we are.
you did not get what you expected her to be,
but then again, you left her -
so in the end, i guess neither did she.