night punk

I realized heartbreak wasn’t poetic when my sister was driving her car 90mph, her hands clenching the steering wheel and her mumbling “I can’t believe I was so stupid.” because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t turn her broken heart into anything more than a mosaic. because when this boy had to talk in front of the class, his eyes watered when he mentioned her name and he shrugged his shoulders and said “sometimes things just don’t work out.” and he still loved her. because when it happened to me I pictured me going 90mph on the highway, and mumbling about how I still loved him but instead I threw something at the wall and I wrote about it. I wrote about how much it hurt and tried to make my ribs cracking with all the weight of my heavy heart sound poetic but it’s not. nothing is beautiful or poetic about the way your heart feels when someone you loved leaves, or doesn’t stay, or says “I’m sorry, it just has to be this way.” and there’s nothing poetic about driving so fast you’re convinced you’re gonna crash into the bridge, but you don’t. and it’s accidentally taking a breath under water even though you know it’ll get in your lungs but you just couldn’t come up for air and it’s not beautiful, it just makes your lungs fucking burn. heartbreak is going to open your mouth and nothing comes out but a few broken pieces of your heart and you swallow it back down in hopes of no one noticing your heart coming up from the ocean waves forming inside your stomach and with just one more look from him, you know you’ll turn into a hurricane and it’s dangerous. it’s not beautiful. it turns people into natural disasters that destruct anything in their paths. it makes hearts so broken you can barely see the flame that sparked it up in the first place, because the ocean inside of them washed it away, and you can’t love him anymore when he’s a flame and you’re the ocean
—  I know heartbreak isn’t poetic, but writing sure does take some of the pain away