Here you go. You want to hear it, don't you?
For all the space in your handphone I
Wasted sending you
Useless messages,
For how I borrowed you too much,
Ranting on about life, apparently too much,
Because I thought I'd finally found someone who'd
Listen, I guess I thought wrong.

And I sit on my bed, and wonder,
Were you ever the guy I
Thought you were?
Probably not.
While I automatically go about my day,
I keep my phone at hand.
I am yearning. yearning for the sound of bells,
The sound that I reserved for your messages.
Bells ringing, angels.

I used to think of you as my
Little devil,
Bad boy as you were.
****, was I right.
It hurts, you know.
How I opened me out,
Lied spread-eagled on the floor.
Dug out all my secrets, my Achilles heel,
me...I trusted you.
But I was Prometheus and you were the eagle,
You dug my insides out.
Ate them.

And for trusting you,
For believing, even once
That you were the one,

I'm sorry.

The damage a storm can do
isn't even close to how I felt after you

i am what you need
let's get drunk off of each other
we have nothing else

let's go far away
take me on an adventure
i will follow you

kiss me while i sleep
i am sick of being alone
i'd love to love you

And as you so lightly traced my skin,
All I felt was your longing for the flame that once so relentlessly licked your fingers.
That passion that had ignited your lust,
was now smokey embers of a dying fire too damp to ever be relit.

I long to hear you say again the words you used to whisper so gently to me as we gazed at one another, infatuated through and through by the very idea that we were tied by destiny to make this adventure through life together as one. The thought that started with an I and ended with a you and in between was the feeling that filled every crevice of my mind when you were around, or even just when I day dreamed and you were in my dreams. The sentence that I stuttered and stammered out again and again when you were leaving and all I wanted was you to say it back and stay. The empty statement I could never throw at another girl cuz my heart left with you and I know it will never belong to another.

"But you're not like her, that's why I love you"

There is no whiskey in his room tonight...

Instead,
There is a half-empty glass of-
Rock shandy, Pepsi-cola, Dr.Pepper,
Or something black.
Something minuscule,
even though he has not sipped from it.
He has not looked at it- his tongue
Was only dry for two minutes before he
Locked the door.
For the only presence that made it hard for him to swallow
Was in the form of something that he was still trying to release...
at 2AM.
Release at 2AM.
There is a typewriter in front of him and he is feeling as permeable as
The glass that is sitting next to it.
'as permeable if it had a closed lid made up out of carbon' he thinks.
'Closed lid', 'Carbon',
'Closed lid'
He does not know what to type.
As distance diminished it's existence throughout the years,
He began to realize that Letters were starting to transform themselves
Into Diary-Entries and vice-versa.
The art of belittling seclusion through the method of fictionalizing himself
Was turning more into a hobby than an art and
he did not know what to do except to accept it as a tragedy
That nobody else needed to know about.
"Tragedy:" he types.
"I don't know how to forget about you."
'And etcetera,' he thinks.
In his minds eye he sees a girl in a school far away.
She's holding a camera and a textbook and a picture of a boy
That isn't him.
She's walking into her new life and one day she will go a week without
Thinking about how it feels to know interest and feel it shared
from someone who thought it never existed.
One day she will go a week without thinking about the boy who stared at empty pages
And wrote letters about bitter meals that his tongue thought could never be tasted.
One day she will go a week with just the thought of how glamorous a life spent alone is...
Before she meets someone there...
Who will make her taste something that is less bitter than him himself.
'I hope that's where my story ends.' He thinks.
And then imagines himself embedded into
Dark bitter things.
(Tobacco, caffeine, dark chocolate.)
He sighs and stares at the words he has already typed.
He can imagine these bitter things spilling into his glass and changing its taste with each
little drop.
"You were dead to me before you even walked out of the door..." He decides,
And puts it onto the paper.
He lifts the glass and takes a sip and then puts it back down again.
'One day she will go a week without thinking about me..."  He thinks.
Release at 2AM.