Lost in coffee rings and thoughts, I know I am not myself. And I cannot keep time with this rapid fire reality.
        Flash-floods are not my idea of romantic; you cannot be this ghostly presence behind me, choosing my hands only when yours are lonely. My fingers are always freezing without your own to hold them and the knot in my shoulders that only you can remedy has been the reminder that I have not seen you for five months and three moons.
There is no reason for sides of the bed when only one is ever filled, so I have claimed the middle ground (lately I've been sleeping on the couch, in the freezer, on the sidewalk). I will not go near the refrigerator because you left your heart and your drugs on the second shelf; I threw away the letters you wrote during your last week-long drinking binge. The madness has almost evaporated from your pores and I will not see you again.
Not when you never cared enough to see what colour my eyes were, always intent on seeing them half-closed. Now I have changed them on you; I am cleaning up my life and you are the first thing to go.
        I am cleaning out my kitchen and your heart is the first thing I let go of.

Glazed Eyes, I am tired of your temperament. You are the sun that comes out at the end of the day, and I can't live on a series of seconds that were only almost wonderful.
        I need minutes and hours and days of laughter, I need the right to abandon you and not be the one hurting. Make no mistake, I will not bridge this gap or pick up the phone. But when I should be eating, sleeping, talking to the moon - I will be thinking of you.

My ribs are tired of being settled for, and my collarbones hate being unloved. Hipbones bleed out of neglect and boredom, and eyelashes rain down with no one to stare at them.
        the unquiet of a silent scream; you are my favourite lack of control. train wreck.
                I have always hated feeling powerless.
                        weak.

your lack of emotional baggage is quite disarming, and maybe i crave the red eyes and bloody fingers because it means you are more broken than i am. it means you need me, and i need the anchor holding us together.
        this bed is not stable enough and you are not sturdy enough to take my abuse - being able to carry me in your arms means little when i knock your legs out from under you and blind you from behind. i have to remind myself which day of the week it is and this lack of attention to detail has always been a problem. some days my affection for you is false, and if you have to ask, you already know the answer.
        goodbyes are all i taste like anymore, and the day we met was the beginning of the end for you, chérie.

i am tired of the fireworks that snag in hair and clouds stuck underneath fingernails.
        there were times i loved you more than anything, more than everything but i can't tell you without fear of getting caught in a weakness.
it is in memories of you that i would rather chop off my hair than remember how you ran your fingers through it, brushed it back from my face.
go away, sunshine - i am too busy hiding under six layers of worry and regret to acknowledge you today.
        eyes are too tired to close so i have been sleep-stumbling through the last two months. this is a weariness that will not leave my bones for the promise of warmth and everything you bring.

tree branches will not love you back, darling, and neither will i, but they might catch you if you fall.