heartbeat.

you're the flatline I fear the most,

the one existence that causes everything to cease working,

the one to make my heart degenerate over and over again.

Why can't I stop thinking of you?

It's almost killing me.

But she is.

She's an artist, he says,

looking at the world through the eyes of a painter.

What a sad, sad world it is--

so she tries to fill it with colour

but she can't seem to keep within the lines.

Incubus.

he speaks in riddles and

she's tired of solving problems

that others plant in her hair

like daisies in a field

" stop it "

she whispers to the silence

darkness engulfing her prayers

and spitting out her nightmares.

Letter 07: Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush

Dear You,

beautiful, cruel you,

I used to love the idea of you,

your fingers tangled in mine,

soft lips pressing to the curve of my throat,

whispering how you wanted me.

Then you took my black marker

and dotted a short line down my sternum

guidelines, you'd said, to take my heart

and then laughed, kissing me.

Who knew that a few weeks later,

you did exactly that

-

and left me broken.

Loved,

Me.

As long as the ending is the same.

he was my last goodbye,

[ b r e a k ]

he was my first hello.

sometimes the journey doesn't matter