I think I could talk about love forever
Could write about it forever
Continue to think of new combinations of descriptives to define it
And still be lacking the true essence of the feeling I get in my chest when you do something for me that makes me feel special and set apart
Or find a word to rhyme with the pangs in my heart,
Once love goes away
Because we all know that love never stays
In some kind of way it dies
Just like all of our destinies
But it's just so worth it in the moment when you bring out the best in me
And I just like to ignore the ones who dare to question me
Me and my love.
Cause how would they know?
They're just blind,
But in a different way than mine
Cause no one knows my episode of sublime-
Like you.
My heart literally smiles at the little quirks you do
Cause that's the only way I know you're being real and true
So caught up I'm not even worried about that 20/20 hindsight view.

I don't think I can describe it, except by saying it "burns".
I don't mean it's a excruciating heat radiating from my body, cause by some out of body source, but from within.
I don't think I can breathe,
I don't think I can speak,
I don't think I don't think I can bare to be here much longer.
But yet, here I am.
Here I am with my arms crossed in-front of me and my face blank and eyes wide, lungs hollow, heart booming.
Here I am with the feeling of pulling a U-turn and driving home.
Here I am crawling back into my own skin trying to make sense of this mess.
But "I" don't even feel like "me".
I'm talking and driving and working,
but it feels like I'm not doing it.
Like I'm on auto pilot,
Like I'm on the outside looking in,
Like I'm possessed.
So I'm stuck, with this over-whelming burning sensation,
that feels like my chest is being ripped open,
with every fiber in my being screaming to go home.
But I don't.

It always starts with the  looking of  bouquets of dying flowers in the grocery store
they're always by the entrance and they're always wrapped in cellophane
Moody lilies, doe-eyed star daffodils, ******* lace-leaves
My grandfather's name was Hyacinth
It's symbolic somewhere, somehow
My family's name is buried neck deep in floral epithets
not that you would notice or care
There's an attraction to be named after beautiful things
From the side of my shoulder I hear
count your hands, they might be missing fingers
I look abrasively counting in rotund continuity
one two three four five
one two three four five
when I look behind me the speaker blasts John Mayer and I go home feeling nauseous
manic begonias, sultry sweet-tooth hydrangeas
you pick a rose and it stabs your finger so you set it on fire and take a picture of it, you call it art and the leaves wither
when I sit at my dinner table eating salmon
I cannot stop thinking about mercury poisoning
I lick the table salt off my hands
I wait for cardiac arrest but while that happens
there is that friend of a foe, that voice tickling the back of my ear with it's summer tongue
telling me, beckoning that the tap water I'm drinking is laced with LSD by the government and that I'm going to have a bad trip that I won't be able to get out of. I'll be stuck in that endless loop like a record player that keeps getting scratched by the needle and won't play anything but static noise now.
I go to bed biting my nails until they're raw and touching skin making sure that my hands are still my own
Moonflowers bloom at night and marigolds remind me of the sun
In the morning I dream of driving out to sea in a car that doesn't belong to me and wait for the coral to overtake my brain
When I wake up I do 20 laps around my house instead

like a Meteor crashing through the sky
with no thoughts for the Annihilation it will cause.
Narcissistic and Irrational are traits of it all
Anarchic until its end…

"But, the ******* screaming you know?"

Lavender

"You know like the lump, the lump in my throat. I cant breathe anymore"

Rips the flower from the bush.

"-- And I just, I just. ****"

Rubs the lavender petals between palms.

"The ******* screaming. Are you listening? The screaming"

Puts hands up to face and inhales the smell of the crushed flowers.

Woke up.
Cleaned the kitchen.
Cleaned the bathroom.
Cleaned the living room.
Cooked food.
Didn't eat.
Cleaned the kitchen again.
Got uncontrollably angry because I couldn't get a stain out of the carpet.
Punched a wall.
Laughed hysterically at myself for 20 minutes.
Had a panic attack and cried hysterically for no reason.
Forgot to eat.
Can't stop pacing.
Can't stop talking.
And talking.
And talking.
And talking.
Thought about killing myself.
Decided it would be more fun to stay alive.
I wouldn't die anyway.
I'm invinsable.
It's 4:00am now.
I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to.

My wrists still hurt on Thursdays. I still remember the way you looked at me. I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods. I miss the way you ****** me, like I didn't even matter. I knew I didn't matter, but my god, I wanted to matter.

     CALL IT MENTAL, BUT I SWEAR MY MIND KNOWS MORE ABOUT THE PAIN THAN THE BODY THAT HOLDS IT.

     I constantly have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I'm carrying drugs I should not need. One to stop the pain and two to stop the panic. That's still three times the recommended dose. You still give me three times the recommended dose. I still need three times the recommended dose.

     The trees and the sky, the sky just as blue as your eyes; and you say you don't understand why I wouldn't want to live forever, but how can I not want to die when forever was in your eyes? The trees weep your name and how can I live knowing they're dying just as slow as the respiratory rate of our love?

     YOU MAKE MY MIND FLIP AND MY STOMACH WHIRL AND THE ONE THING THEY NEVER MENTIONED ABOUT SUICIDE WAS THIS.

     I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods.

     I feel the rusty nail in my back as much as I feel the nail in my coffin. The rusty nail you pushed me against. I am buried alive. The dirt is beginning to smell like home.

     I drink caffeine to keep me awake. I drink too much caffeine to feel you in my chest. I still don't eat. If you were to touch me, you could feel every inch of my spine. And all this time I thought I was spineless.

     The only way I know I never loved you was when I tried to say your name, I would say someone else's.

     IT SOUNDED A LOT LIKE "HELP".

     If I were to forget you, maybe I could sleep. And then maybe my caffeine heart could take it's final beat.