Pain illuminates through my body. One more kiss, once more can I feel that internal bliss blistering inside of my heart. In my head your packaged perfectly, like overgrown meat, like a symphony structure, like a boy in need of a real girl with thick wooden legs and hollow eyes. Let me provide that for you. I’ll be on sale. I’m already bruised, beaten, and broken – perfect for your boyish taste. I’ll light cigarettes on your grave after I kill you with my giggles and black raven’s curls. My long fingers will gallop into the dirt they dug you in, strangling worms and developing red musk on the four leaf clovers around your statue. I won’t burn candles for you, but I’ll let my cigarette smoke take your soul, dance with it, and then throw it in the trash. You’ll last only for 3 minutes, until the cigarette disintegrates and you’re left with only the taste of my crimson lips on your cheek. I’ll run away, like I do with every cute, sweet, mustard, tangy, irritable, clumsy, irresistible, ugly, emotional, insensitive, teenage boy.

I’ve sworn off bad boys and chew toys. I’ve been told to never pass up a once in a lifetime chance, and lately I’ve been gobbling them all up. Lately I’ve been needing to tell you nothing and this makes me the happiest person alive. I think I just might love myself this time. Can I? This instant I can wipe a smile across my face and know it’s not from attention.

A cigarette hangs from my mouth the way she hung herself last night. Swaying past my lips in a circle of white on black, slowly slipping into the air with a massive army of smoke. I knew her the way you did, it was called Anxiety disorder.  Her little pale arms weren’t hereditary anymore, they were called anemia, and her hands as brittle as bath scrub, were called arthritis. She was the machine, her heart beat to the death song, the one that an enormous hustle of violinists can reprocess to make the saddest sound with a wave of bass tones. She liked to drive; driving for hours on the freeway passing signs that lead to no where in her mind. LA became Lost, Denver became Ditzy-blonde-waitress-at the-local-Dennys. She remembered places by the people she met, once a bar tender picked her up in a cheap convertible and showed her the way life was meant to be lived. Through money and cheap cigars. It was the best time of her life; he drove to New York, getting her high on chuckles and Pearl Jam. Her offered her this life forever, and by her needs of getting so close too soon, and wanting to pursue the best in life, she told him to go home and give another anorexiclly beautiful girl another day like this. This was her ultimate death wish.And as I’m driving past the graveyard of my best friend I remember her. Her teeth glittered like butter on popcorn, and her eyes were hallowed. But then again, I remember her shallow beauty- the kind men and magazines would pump love into. She’s on Fire.

The little girl in me is crying for attention again. Her shoes are untied, and the teddy bear drips from her hands like the phone in mine. She’s itching her head, where the soft cool damp hairs flow through her fingers like my bedsheets. She had the real parents, the ones who cared. Sometimes I wonder what happened to them. When did life become so nonexistent that you didn’t even want me anymore? Did I get that independent? Because right now crawling in your arms looks like the only safe heaven prepared for me. I could still fill them. I’m small, remember? I’m smaller than the rest yet you treat me like I’m an ever growing goliath. I’m sorry, I won’t grow anymore if it means that love only comes in segments in my peanut butter and jelly sandwich everyday. The next time the tears hit the pavement I’ll be tying my shoes by myself, letting the phone slip past my hands and onto the floor where it’s intended to be. I won’t care what you think anymore.

I woke up in a new world today. Nothing like the ghastly origins of my ex-self, ex-proclaimed lover girl with your hazel eyes attached to mine, ex-girlfriend of a heathen. Nothing like that- Just a girl swimming in her own jungle of miss conceptions. I would really like it if you joined in me in a midnight dip, where the water correlates to our bodies like silly putty as we wash away our sins- I remembered that’s how you liked it. We could listen to Jimmy Eat World in my car as I swish past the desert at 60 miles per hour, my car jumping on every single speed bump until our hearts leap out of our chests and onto the dashboard. I want you to have that feeling without me driving, just looking at my sweet little bitter plumed face and being excited for the next words vomiting out of my mouth. I know when I talk to you I’m unstoppable, I just keep breathing and my words get tangled in my tongue and teeth and I speak how I’m speaking now. I want to fall asleep on the grassy plains of Kentucky’s finest farm, sharing the same breath with you. But only for a moment until I fade faster than your blue jeans, because my mind makes this numbing sound with every kiss I receive from you. It’s my brain telling me to stop, rewind, and rethink all the others who graced these lips before, and how their now disarmed in the back of my mind next to the unused geometry and stuffed animals. You’ll be hidden away in my closet faster than the last one, with your baby blues and ring-around-the-rosey type of look. I really liked it. Liked. That word itself just flickers past my innocent eyes. In reality, I’m not so innocent. In my mind, I’m the typically clumsy girl looking for salvation. I’m kind of wild, always running past you eyes and clinging on to the clouds that cry over the moon. I’m leaving your dreams faster than you’ve left mine.

Intuition-