i know i said it wouldnt matter
if its not you and me in the end
but some nights the what if's and could have's won't let me sleep

and the stillness of the hours before sunrise
remind me of the stillness between us,
unsure words and hesitant conversations

and in those hours
i still catch myself
wanting

She told me, based on her past, this probably wouldn't last,
So when she told me to run, I didn't want to believe it,
To that small ounce of hope, I held fast.

How can I still be hung up on someone when we only had one date?
Honestly, I still want and miss her, when my heart's in a vulnerable state.

I'd never been that way about anyone else, like no matter what happened between us, nothing could have changed how strongly I felt.

She will always be at the back of mind and it's out of my control,
and if you look close enough, you'll probably find a part of her in my soul.

I know it sounds cliché, but for me, she was the one that got away.
And I will always be left wondering if there was something I could have said or done differently that would have made her want to stay.

I still tear these words out of my throat occasionally
And I talk to you but I know you're not listening
All you do is silently scream from behind every song
And oh how I play you on repeat, just to get a taste
Hungering like the ****** that I am
You're my most romantic drinking problem
You're poison and I can't get enough
My body quivers, my hands shake
But you'll never be my fix
You can't fix this mess I've wrought
With unchained heart and foolish tongue
And I'd rather see an end to this heartache
But where's the fun in finality?

I didn't cry. I couldn't.
I thought I was being strong. Crying isn't weakness though.
I thought I was doing it for the family. I wasn't helping nor hindering anyone.
I made myself ill out of pride. You were diseased.
Cancer victims don't suffer alone. Their loved ones suffer with them.
We don't suffer with pain, no. We suffer with the anxiety of the wish for health or relief.
Never knowing what would come. Always on tenterhooks.
That's just the way life works. Until you left.
Now you've left us. To suffer without you is almost harder.
It's not the death that's tough. It's the living that comes after.
In simple terms, there are three stages. For us watching the victims.
The first. Living a nearly normal life, nothing's wrong.
The second. Accepting the cancer and learning to live with you in pain.
The third. Living without you.
Cancer is mean. Cancer is selfish.
Cancer kills without a cause. Cancer.

Tangled are your hands
Around my heart.

If you let go
I will come apart.

Well if I sound depressed enough,
maybe I'll scrape together enough followers
to be taken seriously
when I write with
the melancholic grit
of Sylvia Plath;

and maybe then this sadness draped over my shoulders
will flow gracefully when
I walk by all the things I did for you;

and maybe this statement piece isn't so impressionable;

and I don't have to wear something plain to go with it,
because I'm tired of being told I'm 'over-the-top'
like a teddy bear peaking out of a garbage can;

and maybe I'll post this the instant
fashionable sadness falls out of style -

and then your pity would be quashed
and then your pity would be quashed