My favorite nightcap, after all this time, is still the cocktail of you.
The listlessness of it all, the profit off depression, the extinction of an entire species, the chlorinated connections- poisoned just to appear clean.
And all the while I thought I was drowning, I was actually the one holding my head under the water.
I lie and tell you I had a dream about you last night, so it makes it more socially acceptable to reach out to someone I haven’t spoken to in years.
I’m just a broken person looking for other broken people who may have gotten shards of me stuck in their feet and aren’t too concerned about pulling them out.
Hurricanes are named after people, baby, and I hope you know that falling in love with me will be so much more treacherous than boarding up the windows and waiting for me to pass.
We’re so infatuated with studying labels that we forget to read between the lines of one another.
It occurred to me that love, simply stated, is replacing the need to always be right with the need to be understanding.
What I mean is you make the world less ugly just by living in it.
This is not new territory. Stop lights like lullabies write my eulogy.
If we are simply energy, neither created or destroyed, and if a body is just a body, celestial or not, why don’t you come over here and we will make collisions out of moments.
I dressed the part and slipped into my Sunday best. I peeled open the heavy doors to every church I could find.
I have imprinted on you and all those miles between us only keep us apart because we let them.
The love we shared is a paper town on a map we drew ourselves, drunk and fucked and needing to be more than we were.
Standing on the doorstep of desire, I hold this bouquet like a gun and these vows like a petition for the death penalty.
Loving him is like trying to hold onto an armful of balloons. Maybe I need someone to come along and pop them.
Don’t ever let anyone keep your heart on a shelf just to take it down whenever it is convenient for them to feel.
If only I had known then the speed with which she could die, maybe I wouldn’t have become the hemlock.
The moonlight melts into lace across your thighs. Unbridled passion, an Elliott Smith vinyl, and the intimate place of you.
The thing is, she’s got heart, a colossal, mesmerizing one. She gives me a green flash love, the type you are rarely lucky enough to see but when you do, your entire sky is changed forever.
Are you using your pain as an excuse or as a source of strength?
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