Fuck You

The way you twist my heart

to mold to your hands

and the way you never lie,

such that your words are either so kind

or filled with such bitter truth

that I find myself

visiting the dark corners

of my mind.

And I lay awake at night

aching for your confessions

and pointless musings

whispered into my neck,

lips tangled in messy hair.

The last conscious breath

before dosing off into

a loving and undying sleep.

I dream of

begging you

to tell me the secrets

of the universe

assuming that

with your power

to melt the girl made of snow,

you must have some

ungodly knowledge

unbeknownst to the rest of mankind.

What can I say,

you were different than the others.  

-
CL

I Can’t Do This Anymore

I can’t do this anymore. 
I have lost it, and I am drained of pretty words. 
Of the flowery language 
that sprung from the depths 
of the soles 
of your shoes,
Tracing the lines 
of each step you took when
You used to follow me 
all around 
Making meadows in the puddles we 
stepped through. 
Now I tug on the ends of my sweater 
twisting my own stomach with your knife. 
And you loved me, but it is impossible 
to truly remember what it was like. 
Because
unlike pain
lingering 
burning,
seering, 
scathing, 
sinking.
You float through my memories 
like a hazy cloud.

The arms I want to cling to

seem to vanish when I move too close 

always just 

out of reach.

And it comes in waves.
A movie montage;
an orchestral symphony;
dim flickering lights;
watching myself 
watching you. 
There, 
did you see
you whisper you love me 
for the first time
I probably blush. 
I ask, 
What? 
Because I didn’t believe 
that such a beautiful thing
had happened to me.
I think I was a bad dream 
I might have been someone’s potential 
I am the reincarnation 
of somebody’s precious baby girl. 
I have come and gone. 
I died before I could take their first breath.
And I am aching, now. 
I am envious,
of the droplets of water
collecting 
in your 
collarbones 
that run down your shoulders 
like little fingertips. 
Sometimes reflecting 
off the 
sunlight 
in your small room.
Spilling
and kissing down your skin. 
Leaving pieces behind 
still making puddles 
on shiny tile floors. 
And 
I want to tell you 
Be 
Careful 
Don’t 
Slip. 
But I, 
I am the dust on your shelf. 
I am the hole 
in my own chest. 
And the girl in your bed 
with her hands to the celling 
calls your name 
very tenderly.
And I want to stomp my feet and say it is all 
wrong 
wrong 
wrong 
But I am very silent. 
Your smile is so very sweet and sad. 
and I can’t do this anymore.

-CL