they crumble and tussle and fold with us.

As you breath on my neck and

rain taps on my window,

I promise myself that I’ll hold on to that general moment

and I’ll let it linger in my head at 3 am when you’re not there.

Somewhere between heavy blankets and cigarette ash

is heaven and I won’t let it escape that morning or the morning after.

It tastes like coffee, smells like rain, and feels like home.

While we stare at the ceiling and day dream of road trips up north where

tress grow tall and replace the skyscrapers we’re used to.

The comfortable silence is broken by your lashes on my cheek.

They used to call it butterfly kisses but that’s when I was naive and bleak.

 

I’ll let you invade my fortress and poison me with your touch.

Even though you know I won’t believe you when you tell me i’m beautiful, you say it anyway to make me blush.

And with each time you say it, I never told you, but there’s this little match that lights up in my chest. 

I have no idea what it is, but it’s warm, and I favor it over the rest.

But as soon as it’s lit, it’s put out with the voice in my head.

 

Maybe I just overthink or maybe I second guess myself too often,

but time after time again, I find myself reliving the agony of self defeat and self destruction. 

Entire nations would fall for your words.

Threading into my finger prints as I tap the keyboard.

You design this room in my head, with a painting on the wall.

I’m thinking of a place where time has froze at your rhymes and your matters

the seconds don’t count, nevertheless the minutes.

So, I daze off again with my eyes glued but my mind racing.

 

A reflection recollects the thoughts of an awkward girl with dreams to big to fit her reliance.

with a problem, maybe two, that she keeps defiant

to turn into poems or stupid songs that she keeps in a file on her beloved laptop thats key's are six shades of blue tiles.

She sits on her bed with earphones in her head thinking for synonms for words to use instead.

With her head blank, which is ironic,

she resorts to thinking of him.

 

A sickness in my head that won’t go away.

with all the sleep I've got,

I still want more.

Sitting in the corner huddled in a ball, I resort to looking for secrets in ancient journals and notebooks that have hidden messages from my old self.

"Who’s the scapegoat this time duchess?"

Across the bridge of insanity.

As a pendulum presumes it’s original placement between my eyes, 

I follow it to kill time.

 

Placed on the edge of oblivion, I’m expected to finish so much.

I’ve got the world on my mind but with so little time, 

My head ticks and rocks with the occasional nervous twitch.

As procrastination becomes a heavy habit,

the addiction of day dreaming comes to pay a visit every half an hour or so.

Because you’re on my mind and behind my lids lie three letters that are impossible to forget.