I’m drowning in his veins. His heart, twice the size it should be, pumping tainted blood through the labyrinth buried beneath his skin. I take refuge in his lungs. And it’s then that I see what’s creating the cataract of sludge. Great piles of charred mess building across the walls. Too hot, poisoned air launched at me and him with kamikaze apathy and sniper-like precision. And all the while he spits the scorched oxygen to his heart. Cranking out more pollution than his body can dispose of. And me with my gas mask, hell-bent on tearing down the filth. I shovel it out like a chimney sweep in a stack that’s still on fire. Until my energy is spent. Until the tears stream hot and sulfurous, only adding to the contaminated blood. And I hope that if I stay here, a living thing inside of him, that the air that falls in on me will somehow be clean. That I can breathe life back into him. But the sky above me is filled with explosions of darkness. And the bombs only continue to fall.

I revel in red

Blossom to blue

Pulsate amongst purple

Grin alongside green

Whisper with white

Blaze amid black

Inundate into indigo

Orchestrate among orange

And yell myself yellow.

'Too much of a good thing can be bad'

But I want you to take my hand

Lead me to the galaxies that are your soul and

Blind me with your endless constellations

You are my night sky

i wrote us like a script but

i didn’t know the whole story

but i gotta tell you, as a writer,

i thought i knew all the facts

—but i didn’t see those little cracks—

that grew into the end of us.

i will not be your story to tell

not the way things used to be

when you were the painting

and i was just the pastel

don't look to me, little bird, you see

i will not console you

don't come crying, little raven,

because you've always been dead to me.

i'm sorry.

i'm so sorry.

those are the words i want to say to you

if only i had the guts to speak to you as i did when i thought you thought nothing of me and that's the way it would always be

and that was fine with me.

i'd tell you how much i miss just talking and i'd tell you how much i miss your silence and i'd tell you how much i miss your presence and i'd tell you how much i miss your jokes and i'd tell you how much i miss your music and i'd tell you how much i miss you

and i'd tell you how much i miss not writing in run-on sentences.

god, this is so stupid.

i'd tell you how much i find this whole situation ridiculous and i just want to talk.

why am i so stupid?

why am i so naive?

to actually believe this has anything to do with me.

you've just grown up.

you've changed,

and so have i.

i'd tell you how tired i am of writing about your memory just to remember the sound of your voice.

i'd tell you...

i'd tell you i'm not good with words- though that's nothing new.

i'd tell you how much i hate using ellipsis- and yet i just did- and ask you if you do, too.

you'd probably say you don't have an opinion on it and it's stupid to bring it up.

stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid

stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid

i'd tell you how all of the late night thoughts i've had of you are pointless and pathetic and i'm sure you'd think so, too.

i'd tell you my words are spastic and no where near good poetry, but they're about you so i can't bring myself to delete them.

i'd tell you this whole piece is worthless, but the words don't seem to stop.

i'd tell you i'm trying to use as many degrading adjectives as i can, but it just doesn't seem to sum it all up.

let's start from the beginning:

i'm sorry.

i'm so sorry.

I've read that

tiger lilies

represent

the more aggressive

aspects of

femininity

as well as passion

and courage.

some say

when given to another

it's a dare to love me,

and I do;

I dare you to fall

into my brown eyes

pools of sorrow

hidden by the fire

of one who is restless

who sometimes

wants to give up;

curl up and just

disappear

but hasn't

given up

quite yet.

Can I be

aggressive?

yes.

But nobody knows

what you want

unless you make it

known to the universe