Blue, I suppose, is the saddest color. It's the color of my mom's eyes and I always saw her crying after dad left. It's the color you're supposed to turn when you stop breathing because the boy you loved ripped your heart right out of your ribcage. It's the color of the sky on a beautiful day, but the soft blue horizon provides no comfort when you remember how blue you feel.

This is a poem for you,
For all the empty "I love you's" and the even emptier apologies.  
For all the drunk kisses and sweaty hands that used to hold so much promise but now I can feel myself slipping out of them.
This is a poem for you,
For you and all of your white lies
For the way they settled in me like dust, clinging to anything that might resemble something sturdy.
This is a poem for you,
For all the ways you used to take my breath away, and the way I used to love it.
For all the ways it now makes me dizzy in the worst ways and the way your hands aren't there to catch me.
This is a poem for you,
For the way we once were
For the ways we will never be again.

You always used to complain about the smell of my cigarettes that clung to the seats of my car, so I quit smoking because I'd rather lose the things that make me calm than lose you.
You always complained about the smell of the liquor and beer on my breathe and the way it tasted in your mouth when we kissed, so I quit drinking even though it was the only way to feel normal. I'd rather lose my sanity than lose you're arms around my waist.
You wanted me to quit all the things you thought were killing me slowly, so maybe that's why you decided to leave, or at least that's what I keep telling myself. It's what I have to keep telling myself.
I've been drinking and smoking myself into ash since the week you stopped calling me and the nicotine and ***** may be helping, but you're certainly the one killing me.

I guess I thought your arms were a safe place to rest my head and your words were a blanket I could hide under when things got to be too much to handle but your hands are leavino bruises on my heart and your words are getting so sharp that I think if I don't run away now you'll find me in a pool of my own blood so I'm sorry but it's time for me to go.

I know it was selfish of me to think you could fix me, for I know of all the bruises my heart has housed, and all the tears my eyes have seen. I'm sorry for letting you believe your love would be enough to make my heart stop trying to claw itself out my chest.

You don't have to be on fire to feel like you're burning alive and you don't have to be anchored to the bottom of the ocean to feel like you're drowning and can't catch your breath. You can die a million times and not have a single cut or bruise or broken bone, but your soul can be empty and you'll cry on your kitchen floor at 3 in the morning and you'll wish that your skin was on fire or water filled your lungs.

They'll hold your hand and kiss your lips, make you believe that you're the only one they'll ever love. They'll write you poems and sing you to sleep, and you'll believe them. After a while you'll notice that their grip is a little tight because they don't want you to find an escape, and the reason you're dizzy after you kiss isn't love but the poison they spit in your mouth. They captivate you and make you believe that's what love is but then you're being held captive and now you're not so sure.

Flight attendants always warn you to put your mask on before helping anyone else, because you have to safe yourself before you can save others. The same goes when you're in a pool trying to help someone drowning; you have to be able to keep yourself afloat or you'll both drown. I've never been a good listener though so I'd crash and burn for you because it really doesn't matter if my lungs fill up with water and I drown from the inside out as long as your breath comes easier at night.

You were better than any pills I could take to my my head stop pounding and my eyes a little heavier. You were better than homemade soup and backrubs and damp washcloths on my forehead. You were so much better than the chemicals, so I got addicted to you instead. But you have no warning label, and I must have overdosed, because people can't be medicine but you can die if they poison your bloodstream.

You're not allowed to stay up and text me until 3 in the morning and then pretend you don't know me in the hallway on monday. You're not allowed to hold my hand at my house and then ignore me when you see me with my friends at the mall. You're not allowed to take my heart and run off with it unless you're going to invite me to drive the getaway car. You're not allowed to **** me from the inside out and then turn around and call me beautiful.  It doesn't work that way. You're not allowed to tear a person to the ground, push them into the depths of hell for you, and then pretend like you saved them from the fire.