There are people who have sadness
deep inside their bones,
swimming through their veins,
coursing through their lungs.

Addicted like a dead-beat to alcohol,
like a ***** to crack,
addicted to waking up each morning
and feeling the stab of the knife being driven into their chest
because they deserve it;
addicted to the sadness.

Despite their lips cracking into a pathetic smile
there is sadness in their irises, on their pupils,
screaming to be noticed
but not pointed out.

There are people who have sadness
written in their notebooks,
on the inside of their wrists,
their thighs,
their eyes,
and they are completely content
letting it live there.

I looked right at you and I knew you'd break my heart.
All brown eyed and troublesome smirk,
you had heartbreaker written all over you.
But I dove in head first,
like some sort of death wish.
You were a bad boy with bad intentions
and such a charming smile,
and I had every desire to let you poke holes in my battered up heart.

Some days I wake up and I can go
twenty minutes,
maybe an hour,
before I remember you.
But each morning while I
brush my teeth or
hide my face behind make-up,
it'll hit me like a
magnitude 5 earthquake,
that you're gone and I
no longer have my heart.

Mommy use to warn me
about boys who would pull my hair,
and tell me I was pretty,
and pick me up in their fathers truck,
and break my heart.
But she did not mention all the other ways a little girl could have her heart broken.

Like when her daddy packs his bags and doesn't come back home,
or when her mother picks up the bottle instead of her from dance class.
She failed to tell me that there were men out there that
would hit you until you saw black
and then tell you they couldn't live without you.
And that your best friend will figure out everything about you, and then use it against you.
The reality is, many little girls have their hearts broken
long before they have a chance to have a man tell them they love them.

I want to share my cold feet with you in the confinement of our bed.
I want you to be there when the thunder booms and the lightning strikes,
because we all know I need someone to hold me tight.
I want you there in the morning as I'm getting ready, to tell me I'm beautiful as I stare myself down in the mirror,
scrutinizing every detail I hate.

I want to make you your coffee,
I want to know just the way you like it,
even though I can't stand the taste.
I want to share all my secrets that come out at four a.m.,
I want to hold when you're vulnerable as you whisper “make me better, make me better”.

I want to hold you up when you're down,
and be strong enough for two,
I want to
make you better,
make you better.

“You always hurt the ones you love”
as if that makes it okay to
say the words you know they hate,
leave for two hours in the heat of an argument,
yell and scream and fight and argue,
or push them into the coffee table.

You do not hurt the ones you love,
it's as simple as that.
You do not leave when they need you most,
you do not write, type, speak,
words, phrases, sayings, sentences that will break them.

You do not break the ones you love
and if you do
and you happen to feel no remorse because
“you always hurt the ones you love”
well then you never loved them to begin with.

People die all the time
I know I do.

When I heard his voice for the very last time,
when I broke that promise not once but twice,
when I forgave someone I never should have,
when I gave it all up for someone who was never
ever
coming back.

People die all the time.
The people we love
become ghosts inside of us,
and I have tried to **** them
I have the scars to show it,
but we keep them alive like this.

I tried to **** him off,
I did,
but instead
I killed myself.

Our love still exists
on the park by the river,
and our love still exists
in the back of your pickup truck.

It’s sad to know
that you can love someone
with your whole heart,
and be wrong for them.
That you can love someone
so deeply and
have it not work out.

I love you 
doesn’t work
when you’re a little too late.
I love you doesn’t work,
when you’ve walked away.

Yes, our love still exists
on your old worn out couch.
Our love still exists
somewhere, out there
but not here.