There's this hideously blue feeling
digging into my soul like a crystal ocean
that glitters metallic kisses across my skin,
and some miraculous thought
ripples through my helplessly broken self;
it leaves black ribbon wakes in my hopelessness,
that maybe it will all end up alright.

Tonight I imagine our final embrace;
burning body wrapped around my arctic figure,
mesmerized by your wordless prose.
When you touched my mouth you poured new life into me
like my blood sang quite suddenly solely for you,
a strange melody called pulse rushing,
stumbling where your hand once held mine,
so empty now that we're gone.

Stars always hurt when I'm alone,
and I can't imagine what it might be like
to someday sit and watch the sunrise
(but not really watch the sun rise);
as rain berates my window panes,
licks my skin a pleasant shade of failure,
the horrific sensation of needing you bleeds out,
wanting so much but realizing I don't really;
I'm just wishing you were someone you can't (but could) be.

We never had love and barely grasped lust,
but I know we are somehow more important
and this was meant to be something it wouldn't;
maybe when we're older we will understand and meet again,
comprehend what is now impossible to see,
and we will take each other's hands to feel
everything we've always know was inside but couldn't bring out
without being truly together, because I know
there's something a little more than nothing when we touch.

But then, we may never meet again
and maybe I'll even forget you name, your face,
that touch that was so affectionate,
but I have this funny feeling that it will never happen.
I'll just pretend to pretend you never mattered,
nothing is being torn when you scribble nonchalantly
because I so obviously need someone to feel sorry for me.

…There I go again, enamored and innocent,
irascible because I can't decide how I feel anymore.

You're just a million shattered promises and I'm that gift,
the one you got years ago that never mattered,
you just can't bear to throw me away,
though I'm lowly and lovely and begging;
you just pull at the chains I've knit together with poetry
and make me feel almost worth it.
Why this endless ellipse of loving to hate you,
hating to love you, loathing the concept of compromise?
I'm just hoping for a future and pining for a past we almost had.

I almost feel empty again until you inspire me
in the most tragically beautiful way.

A/N: Thanks to Isca for some amazing typo spotting!