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I thought leaving you would be easy,
just walking out the door
but I keep getting pinned against it
with my legs around your waist and it’s like
my lips want you like my lungs want air,
it’s just what they where born to do so
I am sitting at work thinking of you
cutting vegetables in my kitchen
your hair in my shower drain
your fingers on my spine in the morning
while we listen to Muddy Waters, I know
you will never be the one I call home
but the way you talk about poems
like marxists talk of revolution
it makes me want to keep trying.
I’m still looking for reasons to love you.
I’m still looking for proof you love me.
i could never understand why you
loved her more, or why you loved
her at all, because she left a sick
feeling in your stomach and a bad
taste in your mouth and love is
supposed to be sick in a good way,
not sick in a “tell my mom i love
her” kind of way.and i could never understand
why i loved you more, or why i
loved you at all, because you left
bruises on my heart and bruises
on my skin and i forgot the taste
of your lips because i was
drowning in my tears and love
is supposed to be drowning in a
good way, not drowning in a
“oh my god there’s so much
blood” kind of way.and i couldn’t understand why
you were able to fuck her with
the lights on and off, but you
couldnt even hug me in front
of your mom, and she always
looked at me with sad eyes
and i never understood why
until i overheard her one night
after dinner while she said “let
this poor girl go now before you
break her heart.”and i have yet to understand why
you loved her more or why you
loved her at all because saying
her name burned your throat worse
than alcohol did and she left you
with a smile on her face and
her knife in your chest but you
still crawled after her.
but maybe it’s human nature to
want what makes our insides turn (via compljcated)
want what makes our insides turn (via compljcated)
I don’t think that people accept the fact that life doesn’t make sense. I think it makes people terribly uncomfortable.
transxient