I hope you still think of me
I hope you still drink for me
I hope all the lights
feel so dim
when you're missing me

***; is just a word mispronounced on foreign tongues. Either way, it's beautiful.

He SCREAMED, " I want to be more than a clanging cymbal." I cut your front yard, but the birds ate out my eyes, so I can't tell if it looks good or not.

My thighs frame your cheeks,
Tambourine tantrum in the sheets.

Suddenly, the world went numb. All the pain, the worry, the apathy, the carefulness; it all went away. There was no sound, no hum, no white noise. The light stopped flickering; the curtains stopped dancing with the breeze blowing through the window. All I felt were your hands.
Slowly and softly making their way down my shoulders, tracing my skin like fingers exploiting a map. Gently feeling the goose-bumps form along the surface of my arms, and gently intertwining your fingers with mine.
I could have closed my eyes. I could have convinced myself that your love for me ran deeper than this. The truth is, this was the foreplay before the passionate goodbye. This was you staining your pigment onto my skin.

“Stop. This can’t be your goodbye. You can’t leave me like this”

You stopped. You looked into my eyes; the same eyes I looked into so many times before. As though you had it all planned out, you brushed my shoulders with your lips and whispered in a way that still forms goose bumps along my thighs;

“I have been looking for ways to show you I love you.
Now all I can do is leave”

Do you remember the way things were when we were so small?
Do you recall being reckless and never answering phone calls?
Do you remember being carefree and always standing tall?
Do you miss having your chin up and thinking you had it all?
Because now you are stuck in between these dreadful walls
Because now all you feel is loneliness as you walk down the hall
Because now you realize nothing really meant anything at all
Because now, all you do is fall.