We fight and seperate when life's a bore;
There is an emptiness within our core.
It is as if our pain is sweeter when
We're young – it doesn't suit us anymore.

I’m certain that by now
The windows are all steamed.
There could be dust on my towel
But I sit here picking at my own seams.

The soap bottle is lying on the side
Watching with hatred from its huddle
As I stare at my hands and try to hide
My stomach with flannels and bubbles.

I squash the buds between my fingers
While hair clings to the skin of my back.
I scrub at the writing that still lingers
Faded to blue from black.

I remember only ink and tingling
And you smiling against a classroom blur
Our hands entwined, my concentration dwindling,
Who knows in what world we were?

I’m just scrubbing veins now the pen has gone.
I wonder why you even let me exist
In your world. Tell me, am I withered and worn?
If you kissed me- Ha would you ever kiss this?

I can still feel the ink prints etched into my skin.
Will they ever fade away?
No; the phantoms in the water always win
And I can’t help but listen to everything they say.

and my fingers itch with want to just touch, just a small tap. i want.

and i say something ugly and you crinkle your nose in distaste and my heart skips a beat because that, that's what i want.

you grin, ugly and mangled-

liar.

i think you’re pretty. i think you’re the moon and the stars and i want to kiss your breath away but i cant.

let's go home, i say.

and if this parking lot is the sole spectator of my heart attack,
i’m okay with it.

and this feels like something siken would wax poetic about,

you’re sitting in a ****** sedan with broken windows with a pretty girl in a parking lot-

but again and again, i’ll beat him to it.

i’ll wax poetics about you until your shoes are shiny and your ring is gleaming.

for once in my sixteen years of life, i love you becomes a real, tangible thing i can touch.

for once in my sixteen years of life, ten years from now doesn't matter, because twenty-six will not feel like this.

and if you’ll throw away this memory in three months, i’ll pick it up and store it in a glass jar next to my bed.

because at sixteen, all you are is real.

I think it's been a long time
I think it's been a while
Since the memory and the vibe
The very first time you said hi

I was ready to forget you
But then I saw a photo of you in blue
In the place we used to go
Doing things we used to do

I was afraid to say this
I was terrified to admit that I miss
But now I can't hold myself back
I think I've fallen for you again
But I know it's different this time