he chose alcohol and told me to go home
he slammed my body and told me to go home with my broken bones
he threw me out onto the mat and told me to go home
his eyes were bloodshot red and he had saliva dripping from his lips
yet he told me to go home as i begged and pleaded at the door
love was not strong enough when it is faced with a drug
he went to bed with his drug and told me to go home

You weren't my muse.

I wrote love poems to you,
Not about you,

And there's a difference.

I cradled my words alone,
They did not need your touch
To thrive

i think of closed spaces and the tiny gaps between our fingers
and how much love used to linger
and the endless suffering which still surfaced as caring
because it was always too **** difficult to let go of each other
and we kept tugging and pulling at each others' fingers until we broke the other
and we blamed loved and claimed it as love
but we were toxic and killed the other
and still to this day, years later, we blame love
because we both desperately wanted and needed "love"
yet love and poison do not mix and all we ever did was create heartaches
i do not believe that i am fit for love, nor are you
love is not blood and the desire to die
love is not leaving the other when the fire becomes too high

I remember one night you came back to me after being gone for ten minutes or so, and I asked you why did you come back? and you answered, because I didn't want you to be alone.
And I think that is what love is.

You're reading
Basquiat
You're viewing
Basquiat

Basquiat is etched
Into my arm
You are reading
You are thinking
Of me

i breathe and you breathe
and we create some sort of harmony
like a dance for two
which we want no one else to see
midnight hours, the dark cloaking our shadows
the shallow breathing
of exchanging one another
we're like two ghosts lingering in the graveyard
i breathe and you breathe
and we keep this secrecy

You loved others before you,
Who dared to come near you
And give you a fate to suffer.

When another approached you,
Looking only to love you,
You crushed their attempts.

The raindrops re-arrange themselves
Into dreary patterns on my window.

Morphing into snowflakes,
They crystallize
In the gray dawn.

I'm going to miss
Having winters with you.

i want to let my ghost evaporate inside of you through your mouth
finally i can touch your lips, breathe me in but don't breathe me out
blend me in with your soul so that you will never let go
give my spirit its eternal resting place where it has always wanted to be
home, home, finally, that is you
i have always clung to you for this sweet, sweet peace