I see he's okay now, and I have you to thank for that.
I noticed the day he started talking to you
He closed the window to her blog and stopped scanning for the synonyms of his self hate within her self hate
He started waking up and and trying to take me with him
Out of bed
Sunshine does me good.

I'm sorry to say I still haven't woken up.

You make him squirm very very late at night
His 6th and 7th most visited pages are your Tumblr followed by his tag
I am being left behind

No

That isn't the right word
My chain is getting longer and I'm starting to see rust
And my throat is sore
And when I try to hold him at night he just
Thinks of you
And suddenly we're both not 16 anymore
We're not the sum or the byproduct
At least
He isn't

But it's nice to imagine that maybe
I wasn't what took his childhood

It's nice to see he doesn't hold a grudge
It's nice to see you looking back when he's forced to inspect me again
You seem good

I think he thinks you're even better

I wouldn't know

He hasn't talked to me in two months

Hidden away from the wind and rain
Block them out, we're alone again

the flowers i turned into a bouquet yesterday
are now wilted and burning like fuel
"everything is fine"
is a bigger lie than the smile on my face
when i wake up every morning
and now i feel myself
catching  on fire too

this is the moon's
quiet rose, the unfolding
of the clouds, tranquility
resting her head,
the beautiful sea.

Through constant beatings
the wound that is my heart has managed
to coat itself numb.
My heart is a scab,
and it seems that all the world keeps
picking at it.

the rain beats against the tempered glass window;
you feel the tugging of the cloudy days ahead