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You echo through me
bouncing off every bone in my body ending in the center of my cranium.
Every time I think I am over you I am brought back to my chemical make up
my chemistry
with you.
You're so oblivious.
Perhaps it is better that way though,
that part of us was left behind years ago.
I wanted to take care of you too much,
to distract myself from the fact that I was the one that needed fixing.
I still wonder what it would have been like to wake up next to you every once and awhile
or
to adventure with you
across the country
or the world.
I do wonder if you think about it,
what could be if we just gave it a chance.
I guess none of it really matters.
I'll leave soon and you'll keep moving on,
but i'll hear your name echo through me.
You know what the sad part is?
You'll read this and wonder who the hell the guy is that has got me so messed up.
You broke me into pieces I didn't know I had,
but you already knew that.
The first time you laid hands on me every scratch I had seemed to disappear only moments later to return as cracks.
How did I get so fragile?
How could you bear to touch me?
I felt the ice in my heart turn to fire and I thought it was because I was starting to feel alive again
but really I was fighting for my life.
My heart's adrenaline was fleeing from a monster I didn't know I had until it was too late.
I know now that the world waits for no one
and if I were to stop this vicious cycle the time I would need to mend is much too great for this world to handle.
So I don't know if I'm afraid of losing you or afraid that in the time it will take me to mend the world will simply leave me behind.
I am much too insecure to be left behind by the two things that matter most.
I don't remember writing this.
The snow should have fallen by now,
everyone knows that
even the flowers know.
If you listen hard enough you can hear them crying
for the snow that isn't coming.
It's sad really,
usually beauty is replaced with beauty.
Bright flowers
to
white snow.
But the snow has gone elsewhere this winter
and all that's left is frost ridden fields.
I feel helpless,
hopeless,
hard,
like a person petrified under the ice that doesn't exist.
It's peculiar how fast hypothermia sets in when you're not even cold.  
I suppose I'm just a dying flower.
This isn't about flowers.
He took me to the movies and held my hand like a feather
but he didn't hold it like you.
He sang to me words made of silk and velvet
but he didn't sound like you.
He held me when I cried
but he didn't feel like you.
He took me out dancing
he kissed me at the door
he smoothed talked his way inside
but it wasn't like with you.
He woke me up with hot coffee and pancakes
but they didn't taste like yours.
He left one of his t-shirts on the bed
but it didn't smell like you.
He drove with one hand on the wheel one hand on my thigh
but he didn't do it like you.
He told me his love was all he could give me
but it didn't feel like yours.
I look for you in everyone.
He is sunshine and evaporates all the black water flooding my body,
the reason my lungs breath oxygen instead of liquid.
I was creating storm clouds in our sky.
He was whole,
giving me pieces of himself so maybe we both can at least be half of a person.
I have no heart to tell him that the remaining parts of me are my father's empty beer bottles broken into fragments from falling too hard.
But you,
you look ready to save him from broken glass.
You are free like a bird, flying close to my sun;
closer than I am.
But the difference is you are not ready to fall.
You are ready to hold up the world together.
To find the pieces he's lost and paint over the cracks.
And I hate you for that.
But I beg you please take him home,
give him the sky that I can't.
Because I am not as whole as you,
I do not have the love you do;
broken beer bottles hold nothing but regret.
And  I am scared of the dark but I'm even more scared of burning out the sun.
So take him home, and maybe I'll watch the sunset as you go.
I'll watch something beautiful as the wind picks up and blows away the pieces that were not mine to begin with.
How ******* dare you.
Do you remember the night you said you were coming back,
the words wrapped around the room snaking across worn out blankets, cigarette butts, and empty bottles you said you kept your promises in.
It's funny how the street lamps illuminated the truth in your lies and running to keep up was just another way to get you to come back home.
Children's hands are said to be used for getting remotes that have fallen behind the couch or grabbing that hard to reach jelly bean in the bottom of the bag,
but somehow mine seemed to reach for empty beer cans and glass shards.
It was a constant game of hide-and-go-seek played with the cuts on my
heart
.......hands
...............heart.
And today pencils caress paper sweeter than you ever touched my cheek and trust has become a double edged sword that always sinks into me.
My eyes create refections I'm not sure belong to me.
Everyone around is whispering troubled words,
you can almost hear them saying
"How ******* dare you."
I believe that prompts are the rawest of writing.
Someone once told me that pain is an illusion.
I remember nodding my head and staring into the distance.
But the day I found out you were never coming back pain rolled through me like a never ending avalanche.
It tumbled from my cranium to the pads of my feet destroying everything in it's path.
Earthquakes evaded my heart shaking my entire body threatening aftershocks with every step I take.
Now every time I try to breathe, memories invade my lungs burning like cigarette smoke mixed with the settling ruble.
It's like a war is raging through the trenches I call veins leaving me shell shocked.
The worst part is the quiet though, when everything goes silent.
I swear your name haunts me, it coats every inch of my skin like gasoline as I fly closer to the sun.
I'm waiting to be burned alive.
I sit on my bed with my arms wrapped around my knees holding every shattered part of me together.
I think I dropped pieces  because when I walk down the hallway people look at me like a child at a funeral.
My voice is an ocean it licks the shore of my lips quickly retreating before I can mutter the words
"how can this be an illusion?"
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