lacking the words that actually mean with the kind of clarity i've wanted for so, so long. it's never been easy to say things straight up&down & actually give a reason to lay it on like thick, thick honey. & there. & you've got me. & stop being so charming, so fucking eloquent. don't have the time to express these complicated things that were easy enough to figure out while lying in an ocean of shadows, between grey lights & voices leading past the window. the nights i sleep seem the best for blocking you out in hot, awful hours that sting sting sting like kerosene kisses on open wounds. i've been bled dry, sucked dry, stitched up & glued to a whole. leaving footprints where i've never been. yeah, i've got regrets, with you stamped all over them, with this infection of shakes & thrills & fear that shoots through skin with mailicious intent. all my open books don't tell me how to fix myself & being right was never my idea of fun, but boy you make me angrier than the kettle boiled dry. i have wept over coffee, & found solace only in collarbones & blue ink. i have worn out my wry smile at the age of eighteen, i haven't done a thing that makes me want to continue this.

i need something more than fleeting romances with ghosts who don't even know.