I want to be the smoke that fills your lungs.

I have written the story a number of times.
But every story that I began, suddenly,
Out of nowhere,

Stopped.

Now as I write this story,
I am naught but amazed
That the pages keep coming
And coming.

So I will keep writing
And writing.

She wore the smell of Summer
On her neck
And every kiss I stole
Burnt like the Sun
And tasted like the ocean.

I would break every heart,

And break every soul

Then **** myself

Before you get another chance to see me again.

The thing about a mind that wanders
Is that sometimes it'll wander to the graveyards
Buried in the back of your soul.
Or an abyss that contains nothing but the past.

Sometimes when I'm not careful
I lose my footing
And fall into that abyss,
But instead of hitting the bottom,
I fall deeper and deeper.

In a matter of seconds I am falling down an archive of my thoughts,
And in a matter of seconds,
I am reliving the moments I carried  with me all these years.

I open up the files,
And just like that,
I am there when she calls me "girly" and wants a "man" instead of me.
I am there when she tells me that she doesn't see me in her future.
I am there when she
left me on the dance floor.
I am there when I found out he held her hand and kissed her.
And more. . .
And more.

I am there.
Sitting on a bus I am there.
Sitting in my car I am there.

This doesn't happen often,
But when it does,
The darkness demands my attention,
And I am there.

They say too much of one thing
Is a bad thing,
But I can never get enough of you.

If her love is an ocean,
Then I am drowning.

I know how to swim,
But I don't mind inhaling her waters.