sometimes I think of the days we sat on my front porch to watch the sunset.
I think of the days you cried in my mothers arms
the days we drank coffee and sat in my backyard
I think of these days and a certain kind of pain arises in me.
a sort of longing pain, a longing for what you once were.
a pain for the person that befriended me at my lowest and healed me to my best.
but no matter the pain, I will never long for what we once had.
I long for you.
not for us.

you were a dream my mind had created out of little fragments of memories.
a dream made out of light from every gleaming star in the sky.
god, what a dream you were.
it felt as if i could reach into my mind and swim in the oceans in your eyes.
i could have count every freckle that sprinkled across your nose,
i could have gently pressed my lips against yours,
you couldve called me by your name, and i couldve called you by mine.
and i realize now you were nothing but a dream then.
but now youre my only reality

i can hear you,
sense you,
touch you.
youre locked away in the back of my mind, itching.
clawing.
poking.
looking for a way out.
youre a creature.
and by association,
you make me a creature.
a creature of habit.

im simply a flower in a childrens book.

people pick off my petals to find out if their one true love
.... loves them not.

im simply a flower,
with brightly colored petals that can drift on a summer breeze.

simply i wither in the cold winter months,
becoming prone to the monsters that hide under my bed.

im simply a flower,
delicate and pretty yet when you look at me long enough you can see the rough dented ridges.

im simply your flower, so take care of me. im oh so delicate,
i hope you can see.

dont pick off my petals to know if i love you, just know that i grow under the moonlight of your love.

so youll never need to know by ripping me apart,
just know ill plant seeds in your heart.

I find myself laying awake in the middle of the night wishing I was her.
not for how she looks
or her smile
or her laugh,
but for the way you look at her.

i’ve taken up journaling.
spilling my feelings between thin lines and smudged ink.
although, my words are not articulate enough.
i don’t describe my feelings in a way that is poetic or neat, it is only human.
who am i preforming for?
if only my soul is to read these pages,
why must i put on an act?
why must my words of melancholy, rage, and hopefulness be reworked.
a beautiful home, without a foundation.

I get it.
the way red rivers flow
the way revines scar across your skin
the way your heart shatters and slashes your lungs
the way you get pushed last on the list
the way your smile fades when you see them
ive been there, I promise.
I understand your pain, your emptiness, your lack of hope
I understand you, and you're not alone.
you're never alone
I'm always here
you're okay angel

i fall to my knees upon your thorns,
and you still dont want me.

not even after i picked out every spike with blood ridden fingertips.
how selfless of me..
to think youll want me

this is the end.
but dont be scared my love,
i promised to love you till the end of time.

my fire was blown out by the words you carefully whispered in my ear each morning.
the day my fire went out became the day your chains bound me to your love, and held me in place slowly feeding me pain and heartbreak

even though our world fell apart,
i can still look into your eyes and call them home..

this years curtain call is coming shortly,
and i still wish i could spend the winter months holding your hand.
you know how cold mine can get.
yours are always so warm.

i thought it was going to be you.
i promised myself it was going to be you.

now im promising to never speak to you again.

funny how the times change.

I breath in the timeless beauty of the pictures we took.
allowing my lungs to fill with the memory of your laugh, and the bittersweet taste of your lips.
I find myself sketching your features into my ceiling each night, allowing myself to see your ocean blue eyes again.  
in the deepened hours of the morning i lay away, my bed cold, your spot empty, unsafe.
come home.
i miss you.

i hate this feeling.

the hole in my chest, pulsating and throbbing at the thought of you.
a broken promise, something reformed and remade every time we speak.

unrequited love. i know what this is.
i hate it more than i can physically describe.
i hate that you’ve done this to me again.

“is it better to speak or to die?”

i’ve pondered this question.
turned it over in my palms, took it apart and reassembled it.
every way i view it,
it is better to speak.

why live your life, if not to the fullest?
why hide within yourself and let what you want pass by?

speak.
and do not speak only when death makes it’s inevitable march towards you.

speak like it’s your last day,
every day.

through all the tears and superstitions all i can tell myself is

"he'll never hurt me"

I long for home.
not the place I grew up, nor the house I live in.
I don't long for an apartment, or a city.
I want to go home,
to your arms.
to your eyes.
to your voice.
let me come home.

youre intoxicating so i go to school drunk and come home hungover craving your lips even more than before.
so hand me the bottle and lets gunshot another round,
because its misery to me when youre not around

i go home and weep for you
i rot away in your clothes desperatly trying to get your scent onto my skin
i rewatch our videos trying to engrave your voice into the ridges of my skull
i place my hands the same places yours resided, trying to remember the way your hands felt against my skin

everytime i look at you my heart breaks a little more

I've lived thousands of lives
walked thousands of places
talked to thousands of people
loved thousands with all my heart.
yet if I could do it all again,
I would chose to love you, even if its just for a second.

i sit in my living room, surrounded by the people that find me utterly perfect.
but all i can do is think of how 'perfect' i was to you,
though there was always someone more perfect wasnt there.
cause if i was your definition of perfect you wouldnt be calling him that.

I can still feel the way your eyes burnt into me.
the way your lips traced every curve of my body.
the way you held me.
I can still feel you, and your presence
but to you I'm a stranger, and nothing more than that.
a stranger that once kissed you with ever ounce of passion they had.
a stranger that spent hours, days, months, years even, studying ever scar, ever mark, every way your body moved.
but of course, strangers do that.
I'm just the stranger that walks around with your deepest secrets.

i need you to tell me that this wasnt for nothing.
that the sunflowers growing in my front yard grew from the sheer amount of love i poured into them,
rather than the fertilizer i packed into the dirt.
i need you to hold my face in your aching palms and tell me ive changed.
that my eyes shine like honey, and my skin glows in the moonlight.
that the promises i made many years ago have grown flowers in your heart and spread its seeds to the people around me.
i need you to tell me im good.
please tell me im good.

I made a playlist for you once,
made of all the memories you have poured into me.
you've heard it before, not knowing it was made of my love for you.
the songs I sing to you, the words I quote to you, they all come from this simple playlist
consisted of the sparks you've ignited in me.

these are the days were the voices grow louder than my own thoughts
were the feeling of postmortem flutters through my head like a butterfly,
allowing my childhood thoughts to chase after it, with hope and light in their eyes
and all I can do is watch the light fade and the memories dissipate into thin air.
allowing myself to fall deeper and deeper into the thought

of postmortem.

sometimes i think about the emptiness of my bed,
and imagine you laying there.
breath steady and even, your arm draped around me.
i imagine your shoes by the front door.  
thrown next to mine, probably in a hurry to sit down.
i imagine your glasses next to the kitchen sink
as we do dishes together and laugh about the water splashing up at us.
i imagine your clothes in my hamper, and mine in yours.
i imagine your books mixed into my book shelves, and your dvds laid next to mine.
i imagine a life that may never be,
a life with you still in it.
a beautiful life, filled with the softest of dreams.

it’s been 7 days, since i last heard your voice.

a tribute to us, i suppose.

the 7th of August, the day we fell in love.

the 7th of December, the day you came back.

7 days ago, the day you left again.

i’m starting to think it was written in the stars for us to only have a fleeting number of weeks together.
before one of us was bound to leave.

7 days in, will i ever hear your voice again?

i’ve wished upon stars.
blew out dandelions.
picked four leaf clovers.

none of these methods have seemed to work

so i’ll pray.
i’ll plead.
i’ll cry and i’ll yell.
to a god that i haven’t believed in since i was 9 years old.

all for you to come home.

as i laid there, my whole body shaking
struggling to breath
to talk
to hold my dinner down
you held me to your chest and sang.
and in that moment i realized
i fell even more in love with you
than the day i became,
the one you call your own