Consider what it's like to have your lipstick on my clothes. my weight around your neck, feeling the love hums in your bones. the words between the floor bloods, swept beneath the rug. tumbling like jenga, towards the coffee in your mug. and i'll take what you can give me, be it inches, be it miles. 'cause i was there for the duration - the frustation, and the trials.
now i am half asleep, a play by play of hallucinations. wheezing through your letters, noting every slight curvation. you're a tiger with no stripes, i want you to myself. so i can paint you lovely colors, and give back my good health. but you're passed out in a basement, glitter clinging to your eyes. while i'm carving an acoustic, to a strum of dusted lies. i learned that i am better off, to likely give a s hit. 'cause in the morning you will call me, and i'll likely go with it.
no is not within your vocab - what you want, you will take. and it seems to be my four ams, when you're four score past half baked. crawl beneath my covers, ask for pancakes in my bed. and while i'm standing in the kitchen, you'll disappear again. not before you do, the one thing you do best. kiss the collars and my sweaters, so i wear you on my neck. and i remember then, what started all of this. your fascination with my anger, when i am weathered full of it.
sorry, i'm not sorry - i want to spend my four am in bed. so i can cryovac the pieces, hash tagged inside my head. of a girl who wants to f.uck me, and ruin all my clothes. just to call me two weeks later, so she isnt all alone. but i no longer want just what you'll give me - dont want inches, i want miles. i want the curve inside your cheek, to be a fraction of your smile. so put back on your shoes, go 'head and call your brothers phone. tell your friends that i'm an a.sshole, that's the way the story goes. hope you relfect upon the pancakes, laundry i never did. so i could wear your lips on my collar, as my own mouth never did.
I cant keep submitting stuff and pretend i dont friggin miss the hell out of you as a person and you as writer. you write the way i wish i could and imagine at maybe one point i did but then i stopped writing because i thought it was time to "grow up" now i just have...word vomit
anyway, I might have taken a long time to communicate it, but you're pretty much the friggin best.