what’s it like to know when
you’re going to lose something?
i never thought i’d actually find out
but now i can say with certainty:
it’s like being pushed off a cliff
and watching the ground rush up
knowing that you can’t stop it
as you fall faster and faster,
you become hopelessly desperate
willing to do anything to escape
because you know that no matter what
you’re still going to fall and it will still be over
all you can think of is the moment
that you know you can’t escape
you start imagining what it’ll be like
what your last thought will be
and the last words you’ll say
but in the end, all that matters is
is that you lose him anyway.
it’s funny how we’re trained
to think things last forever
how we think about the future
as if we’re not going to die
then we’re proven wrong
and we crumble out of shock
but if we stopped thinking
that things will keep going
we wouldn’t make plans
we know we can’t keep
and we wouldn’t be sad
when our promises break
you don’t know me anymore
you don’t own me anymore
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
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.
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
but they never
and they never
so why should
i listen to them?
so why should
i care about them?