i believe i was a brilliant poet lifetimes ago. but now the words fall from my lips all wrong.
i will be screaming until i can no longer make sound.
i know that you love me. it’s palpable.
i’m so proud of you.
in march, time goes at a steady pace, but tomorrow it will be october and i will have not spoken to you since february and i will forget that i have ever spoken to you.
“are you guilty of arson?”
“yes, of my own mind.”
you’re a melody
that is ingrained in
my head
but i cant quite remember
how the last part goes
i remember it well
your hand was on my hip
as you stood
behind me
talking to your friends
and they all stared at me
because we weren’t even
together
but your hand was splayed on my hip
and your head was on my shoulder
and you told me
“you feel like home”