String those lights, the clouds are moving in-
Quit tying me me up in your arms, I’m not fucking gift wrap and your arms are chains, there is no shiny red bow. Just straighten your tie and pour another drink. Stop trying to make me think that this is the time of year when I won’t feel sad and alone; it’s no secret that you can’t pick up a phone, that I followed you like a beautiful young Moses and you’ve led me to this deserted destination unknown. This isn’t news to me, the quiet infestation that I’ve tried to hide is now the angry voice that sits inside, like a ghost.
Soft, floating, almost solid, almost out of my mouth, almost out from behind my eyes, which are not windows, by the way. You can’t look at me and see my soul passing through like a shadow trying to catch the sunlight in the form of a twinkle. I decide who gets in. These eyes are doors. And they’re shut.

So I think this is love because you make me
feel strong and you make me think about things
in a different way like anything is possible and
it's never too late, like the stars are close and
attainable and I could taste them if I wanted,
I could put them in my purse if I wanted, like
the sky is an extension of ourselves instead of
a worthless back drop and just because its far
away doesn't mean that we'll never understand
it the way it was meant to be. I think this is love
because for the first time I can believe in the
sun like it will keep the world turning and I can
totally write off the 2012 conspiracy because
how lame is that, when you're young and ready
and smiling and the world promises us so much-
We don't have to wait for everyone else to catch
up, we don't have to stand around while the
world throbs and erratically changes color like
a giant mood ring resting on the finger of god.
We can abscond to the far reaches of wherever,
no commination would illicit as much as a second
thought because I have you now, and I have the
world now. Say all you want, you'll come with
me anyway, yell all you want, I've always known
what it takes to lead you astray. The world will
be flat again, we can lay by the lake on our backs
beneath the crepuscular spray of clouds, we can
watch them swing lower, we can invite them
down so close that we get swept away. I'll be
the actor in the city that meets you between the
sets in passion, I can get lost in your eyes on
camera and we'll make friends with the paparazzi
like we're supposed to. Next in the dream we
come to the part where maybe it's better that I
wait for you to come back to the apartment,
for you to bring the check for the rent and I have
your clothes laid out, smoothed over the back of
a rotting chair, and we have dinner together in
front of the small TV and I just got over another
pregnancy scare and I'm tired and poor and so
in love with you, remembering the sound of the
school bells ringing in our past like warning signs
of what would happen, warnings to whisk me
away from you that I blatantly ignored and
couldn't be happier. I think that this must be love
because every time I wake from these dreams
I feel like they're memories, they're home movies
projected onto your bedroom wall. This pretty
much has to be love because suddenly you are
the sheets that warm me, you are the exquisite
quiet that envelops the darkness, you are the
voice that spills out and plays between the static.

1. At this time we have truly discovered what it means to be you. So much of my confidence has been invested in you and now that its all been wasted, I'm having a hard time wondering why I bothered in the first place. You are never there for me when I need someone. I know you mean well, but that's not enough. I love you but I hate the color your face turns nowadays. It's partly my fault, as I have also participated in these rituals with you, but the difference between you and I has finally become clear, that for you, feelings of invincibility and a sense of carelessness have become synonymous. Stop lying and stealing. Come back to your senses, I'll be waiting there with open arms.
2. What. The. Fuck. A date? Now? And I'm actually going?