names

when they said his name, I didn’t think of the way his hand touched mine. for a second I forgot about the words I spit from my mouth when his tried to taste my tongue. no, I thought of when he spoke your name and asked what I saw in you. I remember that night you kept me safe when his hungry eyes saw me as nothing more than a mouse to chase. I may not remember that night, but I’ll never forget that in my darkest hours you were my light. I was the match and you were my flame. now you’re nothing but a burned out wick and I’m smoke in the wind. memories of us have began to fade but I’ll never forget how we burned together.

dear god, we could have set the world on fire.

the garden in my mind, and you were never mine

What used to be an open embrace has become crossed arms and a cold face. I used to call you home, even though you are no place.

With staggered breathing, I’ve ran out of room to run. Back faced into a corner, left to deal with what I’ve done.

Driven you away which I knew would happen before we’d begun. We had never begun, I was so enticed with the run I forgot to take in my surroundings.

So I had never noticed you were never more than a blur I created due to my hallucinations, medicated. Induce by euphoria and the fear of being lonesome. Instead of building memories I decided to grow some, in the garden of my mind.

Constantly telling myself that I’m fine, but how fine can one be if it’s something to you have to constantly remind.

But I’d rather comfortably sit in the garden that I’ve grown, than face the reality that I’m truly alone.

red

Does the river run red?
Is it soft like the burning of your bloodshot eyes?
Is it wrong of me
to want to wander along the riverbed,
hoping to fall in?
Red rivers can’t stain what’s already covered in the stain of something that’s bled.

My taste for danger is never
satisfied,
which led to my spitting of
words late at night.
Only this time I’m unsure if you’ll return.

Did my words burn like the
feeling of flame to skin?
If so I’m familiar with
the singe left behind.
Touching the wound will never let it heal,
I’m not worried about that.
I’m worried that I can’t feel.
Take my advice, leave it be and I’ll try to do the same.

I’ll find a taste of danger elsewhere, away from your pain.