Through

It's not when my mouth is going 100 mph 

And my eyes are running like faucets 

And the cliche Angels and Demons are racing the Indy 500 in my head 

That you should be worried if we're through.

It's when my heart and brain are finally are on speaking terms

And your voice feels like a sword in my ear. 

When the hardness that lives in the center of me has locked you inside it

And I simply have nothing more to say to you

That means you're screwed.

Because that is when I'm completely finished.

I never thought the day would come when we were just done.  

Where I would feel nothing in my bones for you at all.  

No more waiting for you to wake up and realize you miss me.

No more hoping you'll call. 

I just started living again.

Not everyone's kiss means the same thing.

Temporary feelings and fucking around

Create permanent memories and hurtful scars;

Remember that.

Sometimes the past is your teacher

And other times, regret is.

Come on over and suck on my last straw,

I dare you.

-Cynicallovebird

Thinking Over Coffee

You called me.
Your voice reeked of drama and desperation;
Even more so than usual. 
Telling me things I have no business to care about.
That was the part that was out of the ordinary for even you.
I guess we can just chalk it up to being another one of your testosterone driven attempts to wreak havoc upon my heart.
The disappointment in your voice 
at the realization that I wasn't buying was fascinating. 
And if I take a moment to admit it, satisfying, even.
Every time the story of us crosses my mind,
Little by little the importance you once held in me 
is chipped and falling away.
This morning I peeled myself away from my needy bed 
and brewed my espresso with gusto that today will be the day.
I sit watching the steam rise from my "Happily Divorced" mug 
and follow it to the intersection of hope and hopeless.
How am I supposed to forget you 
when even my morning coffee reminds me of you?
Hot and comforting.
Strong, bold, yet sweet.
Something that even I am convinced 
that I cannot get through my day without.
I might as well be squeezing 
my perpetually bleeding wound of a heart in my hands.
My nails dig in deeper and I gasp at the realization that I'm 
still waiting for the day to come where you cross my mind 
and I can't remember how long it's been since the last time.
The day that I stop worrying that I'll never be able to create art as beautiful as your curiously gentle grin.
Maybe I was selfish by begging you to pick me for once;
Just like a kid reacts when something they love 
is being taken away from them.
Bewildered that trying to make you gone from my head 
has made you even more present.
It's as if you can feel me saying goodbye to you. 
Just when I feel that I might be winning,
You seem to feel the need to reach out to prove me wrong.
I'll make you a deal:
You do the remembering for once,
While I do the forgetting for a change.
Maybe then our hearts will finally be even. 

Lust

I remember the first time I fell in love with sexuality.
I've been high off it ever since.
They carry it so casually;
As if you all have no clue my legs are threatening to give out beneath me.
I think that is what makes me so giddy.
That you have no idea how gorgeous you really are.
You are oblivious to what a girl would give to live wrapped in your eyes for just a day.
And the desire....

It's relentless.

My hands are on fire.
They ache terribly to reach out and touch
the stranger I've fallen deeply in love with.
My feet are planted firmly to the ground
And silently chastising the lesser of my being that aches to wrap myself around you.
I respect all that you are too much to pout or grovel or beg;
but to say that I was just as composed on the inside would be a flat out lie.

My heart is a graveyard.
Everything is buried in there as deeply and repressed as possible,
But when they talk about love,
I swear I feel them scratching at the back of my brain
Trying to make room for you.

I question.
I over think.
I insert fear into things that never carried any danger to begin with.
I leap off of sky scrapers built with my own mind.
Maybe this is nothing.
But what if it's everything?

So here I remain.
Planted.
Silently, painfully
Admiring the art of you, 

The stranger in the Hall.