Always the Long Hall
Always the thousand pretty and ugly words
               That all just amount to desperation.

On moment you’re young and beautiful and desired and filled with genuine, unironic, honest to God love.

The next you are standing alone,
               bathed in the pale fluorescent light
      
And you are tired.

Pouring through an hourglass.
                                   I know where this leads.
A new scene where I paint the picture of confidence.
Standing tall.
                        Head high.
                                            Eyes ahead.
A strong voice with carefully chosen words.
It’s important to me that you notice this.
There are things you think you’ll never say.
There are things I could do but only think.
So you smile at me and I smile back.
And that’s enough.

Time’s up.

Open the flood gates!
                 You can’t be happy here anymore.

“You can’t get there from here.” Said a man in a white shirt
“You can’t get there from here.” Said a girl I don’t want to destroy.
Cut that scene. There’s no beauty in it.
Cut to a room that’s empty but doesn’t have to be.
A dream of you and me. Then only you and me.
These, our bodies, honey sweet.
You look at my arms and wish you could live in them.
I look into your eyes and am afraid.
Because I want to melt into linen with you.
Shatter and tarnish porcelain.
Okay fine, I might destroy you.
But I’ll bleed for this too,
And I’ll show you my scars
So you can press your lips against them.
Tell me that all this
                           and the fire too
                                                will be worth it.
Tell me if it comes crashing down we’ll never get over it.

Inside your head you hear crickets.
You wake up and see the stars,
And feel leather
                                   and fear.
That’s all for now
Later is the part we rip each other apart
Figuratively,
                            of course.

The cluttered old shelves, always dusty
Hung through Merlot red wallpaper
With little tears in it, adorned
By faint outlines of broken hearts.
Little pretty things.
All with handwritten price tags,
All asking you to bleed.
Dead roses and heart shaped boxes.
Emerald necklaces, diamond rings.
Slender books filled with sappy poetry.
Snow-globes capturing old memories.
Your favorite sweater she never gave back.
(You never asked)
The photographs you threw away.
(You never forgot)
Glass shards from broken liquor bottles.
Everything in the Emporium of Misplaced Lovers
Yours, for blood from your broken heart.

Every morning, the dark room.
Every morning, the wandering hands.
            
           The white linen, the black curtains.
The Golden light waiting behind them
      Silence in the air
Silence in every breath you breathe
          Every one of them is for me, I know.
            
            The white walls, the black ink.
The green leaves of the spider plant
      Sitting on top of our dresser
That you swore you’d **** within a week
          But will never wither or wilt.

          The soft touch, the strong arms.
The wandering hands, restless
      Until the find you, they always do.
So they may pull me closer to you
          As the golden light fills our bedroom.

Moonlight pours over your skin;
                 Your eyes still closed.
In this moment
I can almost imagine your lips moving
              Up
                    And down
Telling me you don’t know what love is
And asking me if I do
                                       As if i have a clue
                     Suddenly
A new lover
                      Her deep brown eyes
                      Her hands
                      Her touch
                      Her lips
             Not yours.
I’m trying to be fearless because I know,
                             I know she wants me,
needs me, craves me.
It makes me feel handsome.
With her nails in my back I apologize
         That I don’t know if I love her or not
She pulls my face to hers and whispers
Love isn’t always roses and heart shaped boxes
Sometimes it’s a guilty conscience and scratch marks in your back.
          
                        No.
My mind goes back to you
              Your hazel eyes
              Your hands
              Your touch
              Your lips
Telling me you don’t know what love is
       And me
Wishing I said we can figure it out.

Always the harp strung out.
              Always the cactus deserted.

All you wanted was something definitive.
I cant blame you
            For looking past little words
That weren’t even said to your face.
         You look beautiful tonight,
But that’s nothing new.
          Face to face,
I wonder what pattern of words and
                                  Looks
            Could make every inch of you mine.

My heart: a lone oak tree.

All I wanted was the world
                                               But I’d settle for Asher, Arizona, with you.
              In complete honestly
There’s not much difference between the two.
Love in the desert, love in the mountains
Love in my arms, love in the Pacific,
                    Love in my passenger seat
Love on stage
           Love walking away in my headlights.
                
                  “Love loves to love love.”

Hello, Love
I’m sorry my smiles a bit crooked,
          I’m sorry I’m looking at you like this,
                    I’m sorry I had to go and ruin,    
              everything by saying it all out loud.

Here’s the part where an anxious 20 year old sends the
exact right text message at the exact right
               Time:
Hello darling, I can’t wait for you
                    To come home for the weekend
So we can make strawberry cake
        And fall on my kitchen floor laughing
Spilling bottles of cheap wine
            While I finally draw the words I
    Desperately
Have always wanted to here from you
                        And return them in kind

I’m sorry about all that.
                   If you’d like
                        We can forget about all that
            And get matching tattoos
In the morning before you leave.
                   If you’d like              
  We can pretend it’s all so simple.

                                And
I’m sorry if I ****** you
                              Even if it is intentional.
Here’s the part where I forget all my apologies:
I grab you by the waist and
     Tickle you
                    Because I know
You’ll fall into me laughing
           And rest your head on my chest
And when you look up
                     I’ll be there to kiss you
And take you away to dark rooms
     With confident hands
Bad intentions
                               And the crazed euphoria
Of feeling your skin against mine.