I can't even begin to remember
what your arms felt like
because they were around me
the same amount of times
as fingers on one hand

I am so sorry
That I loved you
More than you could handle

Shouldn't it hurt
more than it does?
It almost feels as if nothing has changed...

Bye.
I'll miss you
and I love you
-obviously-
but the lack in communication this brings
was already here
has been here
for months now...

There's no such thing as "not enough time"

There's "enough" time

You just have to be willing

To share it

Are you?

How can I possibly know yours
if you don't pick up the phone
or tell me what it is
that you
want
?

If we were truly together
would it feel like all the roses
you ever gave me in these past six months
were so dusty that if you sighed a single breath as
you do every morning when you wake and I'm not there-
would it feel like that dust would fly higher than you ever had
into a vortex, a cyclone, a twister that devoured all you are and ever were?

But what with?
a stick
a stone

How about
my broken heart

it matches
the shattered pavement
anyways

The smell of his smile
    drifts as we
         are called back downstairs
               and the cold comes back

If I was a painter, you know what I'd do?
I'd paint what I feel every time I'm with you.

In beautiful shades of grey and blue
Would be the scenes that are lacking you.

It's not the taste of his lips
It's the smoke they imply
that keeps drawing me
in
i  n
i        n