hurricane

we never cried around each other,

but that night,

we cried ourselves a hurricane.

we were in your bedroom,

but the wind from your ceiling fan swirled rapid above us,

blowing posters and papers around.

hiding under blankets only does so much.

you can't hide from heartbreak under a blanket you shared,

or hide from the fact that life wasn't fair

to either of us.

the rain on your window tap

tap

taps it's way in,

drenching us both with our immortal sin.

we shouldn't have loved, and yet we did,

the only option for me is to fall off your grid.

so you smoked.

and i was fine. i lied.

perhaps a piece of us died

in that hurricane of ours,

in the bed that we shared,

in the house that was never supposed

to be built there.

we were two added ghosts

to the walls that shared twenty;

twenty past midnight and i'm missing your call,

asking what's up to the voice in my halls.