regret
[ri-gret]
/rɪˈɡrɛt/
noun. the lump in your throat that arrived when she left

I ***** stanzas -
I spew literary clutter
My poetry is aimless
The words all muddled

I write unsharpened
The point pressed pointless
A fire smoldering with no tinder
The universe questions its existence

Like smoke you dance in my daydreams,
Beckoning me with **** me eyes and a lazy grin
An orange hue sunsetting your fire,
The curl of your finger saying come hither

And I wake from this like fire into water
I watch you twirl slower and slower
Into steam, you disappear like the wind
and with resignation again I'll dream

I wonder if you know how it's like to be irrevocably aching. I wonder if you understand when I stumble out a club at 4 on a Saturday, my hands filled with her and my head filled with you. I wonder if you can tell that I am spineless even when I am inebriated, that sobriety only brings back a lump in the throat that came when you left like a sick, sick, sick replacement. I wonder all these things, and sometimes I don't have to wonder, because I know you don't, not a little bit, not at all.

We met when summer was dying and over the flutter of their wings you couldn’t hear the birds sing.

The breeze in the night couldn’t cool me down long enough to stay away, but still you were worried.

You were right.

I left when fall came, letting the chill set in and seep through your skin.

I strayed, but not far enough to not notice your heart wither and curl up like so many golden leaves.

I have written enough to fill libraries about you.
I have painted enough to fill a museum or two.
I tried capturing worlds with words and universes with brushstrokes and everything in-between.
Did you know there are over a million words in the English language? And only 10 million shades can the human eye see.
I didn’t. It took your presence to realize there were so few words to describe your eyes,
And your absence made me notice every shade of gray caught in the damp morning light.
Flowers will grow from the dirt beneath my ribs and the world will die a million times over before I forget to write about you.
I hope you don’t stay forever, but I pray my words do.

It ached. I remembered you, and it ached.
I walked where our feet treaded, my sneakers in sync with the prints we had left in my memory.
I held her hand, and thought about how warm yours felt that first night our lips touched.
The smell of strawberries coming from her hair suffused the chill night air, and I couldn’t help but compare how similar it was to the flowery aroma of yours.
Almost angrily I pulled her chin up, and stared deep into brown eyes that looked so much like yours;

I kissed her,

And it didn’t ache anymore.

I was tongue deep in her when you crossed my mind
And I wish you would go away because I can't stand closing my eyes

And imagining it was you there I just miss you something terrible
And I wish I could take back everything I ever said

Some nights I dream of your face
And when I wake up I have the most painful of aches

It starts in my chest and spreads everywhere else
I wish I never ****** up, Barbie

Be silent, I wish you could just listen
For once, at least to my honest admission
I found stars in your eyes, and fire in your gaze-
IT'S ALL WRONG
I will never ever get it
I wanted to write about you
But it's making me feel tragic
You are the fuel, and the flame
It burns well, but ******* all the same

I hope this gets to you like you got to me
I am up to my ears in unwritten words
I hope to god you understand why I could never breathe
I am up to my ears in unsung verses

I think of you when I am alone.

When I am cold, and the warmth of a duvet does not quite match the heat of your body.

When it is 2 in the morning, and my thoughts jumble up and form a caricature of you.

When I am asleep - my few hours of refuge from the constant letdown of sober consciousness, bombarded with images of you, dredged up from memories I would rather forget.


I wish that was it.
But I see you everywhere else.

Growing up, I watched my mother leave a man she married too young. My father, in his grief, traded tears for beer and a marked ring finger for a string of women. I swore there and then I would never believe in happiness.

Growing up, I watched as my mother’s boyfriend hit my younger brother, careful to leave bruises only where cloth covered up skin. I watched as my mother watched: silently, and never raising a finger. But I was the better person, I think: I was waiting my turn. I swore there and then that I would never trust anyone, not even family.

Growing up, I watched my older siblings stumble through the pitfalls of teen life: they fall out of love as quickly as they fell in, and rebelled against anyone who dared presume authority over their lives. I watched as they sought the attention our parents could not give: from strangers, no less. I swore there and then that I would never need or want of anything from anyone.

I cringe at the sound of your name
(my heart leaps when I hear it)
I am outwardly disgusted with news of you
(my knowledge of you wants refreshing)
I am sick of your inclusion in my thoughts
(my mind is serene only when it’s filled with you)
I hate not knowing if I said something right or wrong
(my exhilaration when you deign to respond)
I lie, because I hope the falsehood comes true
(my lies are for even myself, but never for you)

You have to understand. I know it was my fault, but you need to accept the fact that you chose me. The cynic. You chose the one who would break up with you, and you chose wrong. You believed in huge romantic gestures, the kind you so often see in your Hollywood productions. You believed that love was real, as if it was something you could hold in your hand. And if it was, then I am sorry, but it was crushed in my palm and the smoke breathed in to coat my heart with yet another shell.

It was 5 in the afternoon
We hid from the world behind a closed door
The smell of flowers stuck under our noses
Your pale lips shook me to my core

I remember when we sat on a park bench at night, and your head lay nestled in the hollow of my shoulder.
My arm circled around your waist, reaching to meet its twin’s wrist.
I looked at you, and you blushed, and told me that staring was rude.
I spelled ‘M-I-N-E’ in the space between your collarbones and your brow with kisses, and breathed words I never dared to speak.
You were flowers in May, the sea spray in July, and the cold wind of November.
I was obsessed, and I knew I would never be good enough.
Two days later, we broke up.
Every kiss since then has left me lonelier.

trembling hands
they are trying to let you go
but you keep ending up here
still you remain

promised that you'd stay
i wish you wouldn't keep your word
you tried to leave, i know
still you remain

idly i searched for you with you

I am haunted, I think
By the ghost of you
It lingers in hallways
And in the corners of my view

The faint outline of your head
I can see, lying on my chest
Ethereal hair brushing my skin
While I lie with someone else

It is worse when I am alone
Staring at the space between my hands
My delusions resuscitating
The memory of how well you fit that span

Stubborn as all hell, I am
When you say you just want to be friends
But what happens when I kiss someone else
And want you on the receiving end?

As I pull off her dress,
Wishing it was us making a mess
Feel fire rolling off her tongue, in full heat
But my heart still plays your beat

She shudders and moans the way you used to,
But still
Still she’s not you