i want to be

but mention "death" one more time, and i'll tell you the truth.

it makes me jealous.

because i want black nail polish and black shoes, but more importantly, i want to see a casket from the inside. i need more than one key to lock me in, but i don't want to keep the cold out anymore. i want to keep the cold closer to my heartbeat.

i want to hear your footprints above my head
and i'm thinking of you with a runny nose and chapped lips kneeling in the snow.

at first i'll be laughing about your breathless prayers and how you never knew what to ask for. but then i'll repent for all the cynics out there. just in case god's gonna pull me out of this box someday and drop me someplace worse.

sometimes, i want to be the reason the sun stops rising for you. sometimes, i want to break all the hands who touched me, i want to starve myself because they called me fat, and i want to be the reason you cry yourself to sleep every night. i am why you start drinking. i want to be the black that makes the rest of the colors brighter and the backdrop of every thing you decide to change about yourself.

sometimes, i'm selfish.

i want to be every time you said "no" and why you won't go out tonight. i want to be the first teacher who told you that you weren't special. every pet you buried in the backyard and every fingernail you ever chewed. goddamn it, i want my face to be stained on the back of your eyelids.

i want to haunt you like a bad ghost. i'll come back in the form of every girl you meet at the small town bar and every shot you take to drown your thoughts in. hell, i'll be the thoughts that learned to swim and the devil that taught 'em. i'll be everything that keeps you up at night.

i want to be the thing that finally kills you.

we're glass and sand

and even though you're rubbing me just right

i'm rubbing you just wrong.

baby, i want to be your muse. i want to be every word you write about and every letter you type about and i want you to forget what day of the week it is because you're so damn busy living in the curves of my name.

while i forget to think about you, my name is carved into your chest with my favorite pen.
and the wound bleeds black.

the wound bleeds black.