she says im rather quaint:
and indeed it's true;
for i speak in quite an olden way...
but i mean not to say i despise the styles of the modern man.

id like to think i was raised
under the class of formal lex
and the slack of millennial typing--
ironic, but eh idfk.

i want to drive with you at night
steal the aux cord from you after fighting about the music
and put on The 1975
cause baby i'd love it if we made it

i want to wrap your hair around my fingers
while you read to me from your book written by a dead russian guy
because everything sounds interesting in your voice
and i'm happy to be the crime to your punishment

i want to smoke with you in the sun
as you call me a bad influence
we can blur the edges between us
and call it poetry

i want you but i'm just a little too embarrassed to ask
if you want me too

your comfort movie is three hours long
and it makes you cry so hard you get a headache,
but you watch it so much you have every line memorized.
does anything about that seem even a little bit healthy?

you think all of your friends find you annoying
but they don't want to hurt your feelings
so you don't go to them when you need to

it's so hard to belong anywhere
why don't you belong anywhere?

you've had this poem in your drafts for months
not knowing what to say
the other one was so bad
but it didn't really get that much better

i know you wanted it to get better

but i won't apologize
because i was ******* right

i won't get better until you do
and right now you just surround yourself with people
who don't want to love you all the way
and you do things that you know will leave you exhausted
because you think that people will want you
if you just did more things
do you see where this is going?

because i can tell you that you're going to end up burned out
and full of regret so heavy that you'll drown
i can say over and over again that you're wasting your time
and everyone else's time

and i'd be right
because you're doing everything for the wrong reasons
you're keeping people around for the wrong reasons

but i can't do anything
because i'm just the sick ******* in your head
putting you through hell
so it doesn't seem as bad when you get there

you don't have to listen to me
but i can see the ******* future

and you don't get better until i do
and right now the people that surround you
don't love to want you all the way
and you exhaust things that you know will leave you
because you do things
that people think of wanting

do i see where this is going?

my skin is a traitor
flaming and red
hot to the touch
leaving invisible scorch marks
on everything i touch
directly opposing
the chill inside
the freezing cold
of my careless mind

he really pulled up to my house
wearing a ******* cowboy hat
and blasting thanks for the memories
like some kind of ******* loser

seven (7) drafts sitting lonely
seven (7) always was a cursed number

maybe that's why i can't write anything now

maybe i'll keep this in my drafts, too
so i can make it

eight (8)

your name on a screen
at a red light

how easy it should be
to just say
"i miss you, i feel like ****, and i want you back"

i hate it
i hate this

i hate crying on her shoulder
because it should be yours
i hate going to her
when i want to be with you
i hate the constant ache in my chest
when i remember how much i loved you
how much i still love you

i hate the way my dreams are full of you
your voice and the smell of your hair in the morning
i hate not knowing if you're still there
i hate watching you fall apart
i hate it so much

fast awake
and wide asleep
and shooting all
these ******* sheep

sodium chloride
and dihydrogen monoxide

separate us

but we still
dream in the
same colors