i want to say, with a smile upon my lips,
fuck you and the way you use my womb as a punching bag
and how you took the keys from under my pillow
and find new ways every day to make me cry and how i thought
this day was new until i realized i am stuck in my head when you
are around and i thought i could find something nice to say about everyone
and i realize you're just a burned branch without leaves because you do
not deserve to have people around you because you are not the way
we were, no you were not on top of the empire state building
waiting to propose, you lost the nerve the first time and i was drunk the
second and you think that counted? and you think it wasn't a ghost between
the wine bottles i drank, the way your hand fit perfectly between my breasts
and how every call was forced but i got drunk each time i almost left you
because i needed to stay away from the drugs and i poured an extra drink for you,
for the unborn baby, for the way i told my family i could not see them because i was busy
and i was actually broke and bruised and i keep fucking writing about what once happened
because i do not know if you ever really atoned for this, for the way we were
and my cheek feels musical notes like a slap and your fingers keep typing about the same people, the same stories of things you wish you could be and i am so fucking sick of reading your stories that could never be poems and i really do not read them anymore because i read one and i have read all and we could probably say the same for me, right, but who ever admits that

who ever admits something is more about nothing than something

i don't think we ever will.

11/10/2011

Author's Note:

i get drunk
and i write about all
because why not do what makes a
story since they always said i really could
spin

"the ghost of your lies, i see through them 
all the time"

- this and the title by Bright Eyes

Posted on 11/11/2011
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