if a poet falls in love with you,
you can never truly die.
your lips would be spilled out,
along with perfect puckered lies.
there's always something to love,
even as you sleep in a bed deep underground.
everyone will know what you were made of,
even if you're nowhere to be found.
you are the living breathing poem that all poets need to thrive,
so if a poet happens to fall for you,
you can never truly die.

I knew better than to fall for you.
Yet here I am, at 1 AM.
Thinking about you, while you're thinking about her.
I knew you would hurt me.
I knew you would leave.
I knew you didn't plan on staying.
I knew a lot better than to love and care about you.
I always knew, we would be great together.
That the world would no longer be a place to hate, but a place I wanted to explore and enjoy with you.
I was perfectly fine before you showed up. Depressed and lonely, just how I liked to be.
I knew you would build me all the way up, make me feel like I was walking on air, only to push me down, and make me want nothing more than to be six feet under ground. Away from you and the rest of the ugly hearts in this cruel world.
I knew you would go back to her.
I knew she would make you fall all over again.
You said you wouldn't . Yet here you are, on my mind and I am once again writing endlessly about you.
I knew it would hurt.
I wish I knew enough, to not have done any of it.
I knew better.