They danced along my lips
slowly searching out my hips.
They were cracked to often
from worrying about me in a coffin.
Because they have felt my body
they have touched my soul
and they are clenched into fists
because you know i no longer wish to live.
They are wet on the fingertips
form wiping the tear that slipped
down to my lips.
They reached out to me one last time that night.
Because i took my life as soon as i saw the morning light.
You get the call
and fall to the floor.
And the last thing they touched
was the clutch.
Your car went over the edge
you put them behind your head
and prayed you see me
one last time,
in the end.
I woke up in the hospital
and that is when it was my turn to get the call.
They found me hanging from my bed sheets
behind the locked bathroom door
with a note that said
"i'll see you in the end."

You wore all gray the whole day
you didn't smile once.
You spent half of it sleeping.
The other half weeping.
Then you crawled into bed,
with a heavy heart
and a heavy head.
The days you can't stop thinking about him
are the days you would rather drown
than swim.
Now in bed
feeling empty
i think
"what would i say to you,
if you were lying next to me."
I'd probably say
i have't slept good for days.
And that i want to runaway.
Preferably with you
but you wouldn't come
that i knew.
I would say i'm working on not missing you as much
and it's going as bad as i thought.
I would eventually tell you to leave,
because i know that you will never miss me.

As cold as ice.
I still thought i could warm you.
I was wrong.

She was the girl who would look up from her food at lunch,
just to observe everyone.
And the one who would want to share her writing with the one she liked,
but wouldn't out of fear of them not liking it.
The one you would find sitting alone on her bed
and 4 am
listening to music and staring at the moon.
She's the one who would be reading in the library
hoping someone would spot her and fall in love, just like that.
She's the one who would keep dead roses until they gathered so much dust
you thought they were gray.
Her bed side table had books and coffee or tea cups strung about.
The one who would sleep all day just to stay up
and watch the sunset on her roof, silently smoking a cigarette.
If you think this girl is happy, maybe i should have done a better job at explaining her.

I wrote you a poem today.
It was my fourth about you.
Will i ever stop?
probably not.
I can't kept you alive,
unless it's in my poems.
I fear i might forget the color of your stormy ocean eyes.
Or maybe the way you smiled after you sang to me.
Or maybe the way you smoked your cigarette.
Lord help me if i forgot that way your arm felt displayed along the curve of my body.
Or the way your sweet soft voice whispered my name in the speaker of your phone.
But especially if i forgot the way you made me feel,
like i was flying, alive, whole...
That's why i write poems about you.
And no i don't think i could stop.
It's almost as addicting as you.
Almost.

False happiness.
False hope.
False love.
False smiles.
False words.
False personality.
False truth.
This is what i will tell you next time you ask me why i think nothing ever goes right.

I found out you missed me.
And i suddenly thought,
not as much as i miss you.
i don't know what to do,
whether i should forgive,
or forget you.
Because i know i'll always miss you.
And i know, i'll give you my heart.
I'll give you everything that's left of me.
And i'm afraid
you won't do that same.
So, should i forgive?
Or forget...