take me back to the day I laid eyes on you.
so I can ask you your name and tell you I'm in love with you.
and maybe it sounds crazy but I'm going to marry you.
take me back to the first time we skipped out on class together.
so you can hold my hand longer and not leave me this time.
and ill tell you that I know it's still so soon, but I want to hold your hand for forever, through whatever, always.
take me back to the day you crawled into bed with me and held me after I had fallen asleep.
so I can wake up in the middle of the night and tell you everything I'm too afraid to tell you in the daylight.
and ill admit that I think of you every day and strangely want to see your feet bare.. and.. your body.
take me back to the night we tried to have *** but you couldn't stop thinking of her.
so I can tell you it's okay if you aren't ready, because neither am I.
and if you want to just lay here, just exist together, ill tell you that's okay too. more than okay.
take me back to the day I held your head in my lap and we talked about everything that scared us.
so I can tell you not being with you scares me the most, and my heart never settles.
and I won't admit it but ill tell you with my eyes that I want you to keep me.
take me back to the moment we touched other people and for only a second, no longer, forgot each others name.
so I can run away from his lips, and into your arms.
and maybe then your fingers won't find her cheek, and she won't realize your eyes are the darkest brown, but your touch can melt anyone like honey.
take me back to the day we promised forever.
so we can walk away.
and maybe then it'll save us the pain
of you and I.

did his lips taste different
last night than they did in january?
did the flavor I left on your lips
three hours before mix well
with the bitterness of his tongue in your mouth?
are his hands stronger than mine baby?
did they hold you better than mine could?

Depression is art
The kind few actually understand
It's poetry is embodied in the paint
That covers the artist's hands.
And the canvas drips words
That fill up the empty space
With colors of black and blue
To fill up the feeling of grey
Within the emptiness
Of the corners of the artist's heart.
But the design isn't yet finished
The last stroke waiting to breathe
On the canvas to complete it
Before the world can see.
Slices of red added to the portrait
And specks of tears too
To complete the last touch
Of the masterpiece for you.
...
But you know what they say
Most art isn't understood
And the poetry behind it all
Is lost in the colors too.
For you would only know
If you knew this:
That the art was her soul
But the canvas was her **skin

these fingers,
your decayed bones.

these nightmares,
your dying face.

these despaired remembrances of daylight ballads,
your hand, the pen out of ink.

these scars,
these blades,
this ruined flesh.

A promise once made,
to kiss you at midnight,
beneath a solar eclipse.

Instead, I lay here,
gripping your fleshless body,
imagining you are the sky,
The multitude of dancing stars,
the moon stealing the sun
in a heated, begging

act of sworn devotion.