And it all comes down to
who goes down on who
because a necklace of bruises
is worth more then diamonds
and words fade faster
then a back full of scratches.
Hands are for more then holding
and sheets serve another purpose;
messy hair tells a far more captivating story.
Because legs are intended to shutter
and sighs that expel uncover
far more secrets then your lips dare utter.

Unsteady pedestal,
wall of thin glass
as fragile as skin fluorescent.
An exhibit to contemplate;
ponder and pick apart.
Take an ax,
spare my flesh.
Break in on a starless night
and liberate me
from haunting glares,
intoxicating gasps
as if you've never seen a lost girl before.
"Look at her arms scared black and blue"
"And beneath those bandages is a heart never fully healed."
The whispers accumulate as they remove magnifying glasses from their pockets
and gaze upon streaks and stains
that never fully washed off.
What is it that they love to tear apart and analyze?
Maybe it's the lies.
Squint your eyes and read between every line;
you'll still never understand,
too many pages have been torn out;
eradicated.
Scribbles cover missing words like
I love you
I miss you
I hate you
these windows serve their purpose,
of creating a show from a fragile spectacle
about the girl who never seemed to feel enough
or at the wrong times, felt too much.
But even the strongest glass can crack,
and a pedestal won't hold her weight forever.

The sky is about to make you a liar
because
to the moon and back
is utterly impossible.
I still believe you
even if the universe never did.

And danger was closer and closer with each passing moon
but anyway
we turned to stargazing.
But even the stars fall from the sky
and no dream of mine could make you love me;
Or you for that matter
but I do
I love you.

You look good in blue,
it imitates my eyes
which mirrors my heart
that is yours
forevermore.

I weaved something beautiful for us both
but life is not a loom.
Its a series of complex embroideries
and our patterns never
matched.

At least you're honest,
that's something I've never been much good at.

Somber and sympathetic,
the rain spoke patterns
you never could.

The paint on the canvas
never had a chance to fully dry
before you painted on another layer.
You couldn't quite stay between the lines,
and an acrylic became a watercolor
when tears stained our so called masterpiece.
Days spent debating
whether to paint over the wreckage
or crumple the paper,
but I've never been much of an artist.

I am writing this as I lay beside you
for the last time.
In the morning I'll leave the strawberry yogurt on the counter,
I know it's the only flavor you can stand.
Don't bother running to the door,
I'll have been gone for hours.
Did you know that your eyes flutter an awful lot when you sleep?
And it's sweet how gentle your hands look laying on your chest.
You have a freckle on your forearm,
I guess I never noticed
because as much of your body I've seen I guess I never really looked.
And I'm sorry we skipped introductions,
like your favorite song.
I wish I knew it.
Instead I spent my time memorizing how you breathe;
choppy at first, then gentle.
And I could remain by your side until you to love me back,
but I'm too restless,
and you'd never notice.
And now I am left with an unfinished poem in a book you'll never see,
so when you read this note keep in your mind
that I have loved you as flowers love bees
but the sting has become too much to endure.

*Goodbye my love.

My pillow
still smells
*like you