"I hope she falls asleep dreaming of your lips
I hope she trace your dominant cheek bones as carefully as she can.
I hope she smiles at your honey smooth voice.
I hope she can tell when you are upset,
pick up the tone in your voice so you don’t have to say it,
I know you don’t like to say it.
I hope when you tell her you don’t want to be in the spotlight forever,
she doesn’t consider you in a new light
I hope she’s delicate with your depression
I hope she brushes her lips against your scars
I hope there’s a light in her that helps you,
because there wasn’t one in me.
I hope she laughs
I hope she laughs at your stupid jokes,
I hope her laugh sounds like bells.
I hope she sees inside of you like I do,
I hope she sees that you are irrevocably beautiful
I hope when she has to stitch you back up,
she does so delicately with the finest thread
I hope she listens more than anything,
You are so important and you deserve to know it.
I am so sorry I was never enough,
I am so sorry that I was afraid of opening new wounds
I am so sorry you had to waste your sweet time with me.
"The Art of Loving One Person Who Is Truly Two: The Heart and The Potentially Real.
It’s silly really. How I am still waiting. Waiting for you to come back to me. I hardly saw you anyways, so it’s like a long stretch where you’re gone playing music and making people smile. Waiting on all the promises still. Your heart is beautiful, I want to learn all four ventricles inside and out. I want to learn why certain things are tied closer, why certain things cause more blood, or more pain.
But the truth is you aren’t here. You left me. But I’m not mad at you. Because it’s like I am speaking to a different heart now. One I don’t know. How can I be mad at a stranger. Like I am still waiting for the heart I know to come back to me. That person didn’t leave me. But you did.
You are two different people. I believe that one, the one I care for, is the real you. Your heart. You, exposed, without the sheets covering you. And then the you, you show. Perhaps the real you.
I still want you. I’m still waiting for your plane at the airport and your shitty bus at a venue. I’m still waiting because I know you, half of you, the half I’ve heard cry for help, the half I’ve listened to for hours about things that make you sad. I want to know more.
I want to tell you about the things that are wrong with me and my brain because I’m so comfortable, and you listen because no one else does. I want to tell you how I have no family that wants me and how I hate disappointing you. I want to tell you why I leave flowers in cemeteries that don’t have any and why I like you.
It’s so confusing. Dealing with someone who is two.
I’m so sorry I’m not enough for both of you, inside you, to be happy."
"She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."
"Maybe you don’t go to hell for the things you do. Maybe you go to hell for the things you don’t do. The things you don’t finish."
"Daisies surround the cemetery gates
A whisper down my spine,
“Don’t you dare be late”
Apparitions are dancing
Swaying to the thump of a heart
Rich blood, strong bones
The dead envy me
The way I move, the way I speak
The beating pieces inside of me
No fireworks, no party
Just the insides slowly dying"