you don’t know me anymore
you don’t own me anymore

sacred secrets

i remember when
that word was special

when saying it was like
sharing secrets at midnight
or saying a sacred prayer

now look at us and tell me:
what have we turned into?
who do we think we are?

now we roll it off our tongues
and throw it away like trash
when once it meant so much

and i’m left in the dust, thinking:
"what happened to us?
how did we become like this?”

and i can’t for the life of me
figure any of it out

Clothes

You don’t talk to me anymore, but it’s okay. The clothes on your back do all the talking for you.

You still wear the flannel shirts you borrowed from me when your luggage got stolen and we had to live out of my suitcase for a week. I see you at your shows and you’re in them, half-buttoned over your own white tank tops. I wonder if you still remember where you got them.

Whenever you go to fancy dinners, you wear the fake bow tie I gave you after I finally learned how to tie one of my own. You unclip it as you dodge the bill and hide in the bushes with him and you drop it into the dirt without a second thought. You pick it up because it’s yours, but do you even remember that it wasn’t always yours?

You still wear the glasses I bought for us at that New Year party in 2002 and you wear them every year, even though it’ll never be 2002 again, because you like the symmetry. I like symmetry too but I can’t wear them without thinking of you. I wonder if it’s the same for you.

This was supposed to be symmetrical too, but we weren’t, so why the hell should my words about you be symmetrical? We started romantic and ended bitter and I don’t have a fucking clue why you still wear my clothes.

You don’t talk to me anymore, but it’s okay because you’re a fucking asshole and I’m a fucking creep and maybe we never should’ve been together in the first place.

At least then I’d still have my fucking clothes.

deadline

don’t dream with me
like our future is infinite
when you and i both know
that we’re on a deadline
and our time is almost up

stars under my skin

there were stars under my skin
when i woke from my sleep today
and they made me realise that
humans are just constellations
made from flesh and bones
and a million cells and atoms
going supernova every day

like the constellations in the sky,
everyone sees everyone differently
sometimes we aren’t what they see
and sometimes we’re so much more
but we all shine in the same sky together
we’re all unknowable from a distance
and so incredibly beautiful when you look close

words

words are
just words
are just
words

people are
just people
are just
people

but they never
say anything
and they never
do anything

so why should
i listen to them?
so why should
i care about them?

words are
just words
are just
words

except when
they’re nothing
at all.

what’s the point?

what’s the point
of keeping secrets
if know one knows
but you?

what’s the point
of doing bad things
if you never get caught
doing them?

what’s the point
of being alive for them
if everyone else is
dead inside?

what’s the point?

they told me not to cut myself
while picking up the pieces
of your broken glass heart

but their warnings came too late
and they fell on ears too deaf
so now look what i’ve become

now i’m the one all torn up
crying in the bloody bathtub
even more broken than he was

why didn’t i listen to them?

why did you leave me?

why am i all alone?