Don’t fall for me, dear.

I am a broken poet that weaves words dripping in pain into murals of love.

I am a tattered soul that whispers the loveliest of lies into your eager ears.

I am a shattered heart searching for its pieces, and I will use parts of yours if you let me.

So don’t fall for me, dear. You don’t deserve to feel this way too.

—  Z.M.
Every night I begged myself to remove you, to forget you, once and for all. But every morning I still drink out of your bright red coffee mug. Please come back.

He doesn’t have Insomnia

Tracing my fingers across the nook of your neck, I stop abruptly as soon as I see those specs out of the corner of my eye. I observe the freckles you have sprawled about. With my fingertip I draw a pattern connecting each one, to form a constellation. It seemed fitting since you were still filled with slumber and had stardust falling from your eyes.

Slipping into your embrace I adjust the placement of my head in order to be staring right into your jawline. Gracefully guiding my hand, in order to not disturb the complete artistry of your drowsy moment, I moved my fingers from side to side. The pieces of hair on your chin felt like the warm and welcoming floor of a grassy field. I swear I could feel the breeze beneath my hair. When I look closely I can see scarlet pimpernels growing. In the midst of a place some might disregard as no where, feeling nature is frivolous, I felt like I was everywhere. 

Pressing against your chest I try to use as much force as I can without awakening you. I try to-no, I need to feel every shape and every rivet of each of your bones. I’m more than elated to familiarize myself to the parts that make you up. Realizing how easy it was to rub your skin around, it made me wonder how, all those rickety parts and that brilliant conscience and your passion, could be held together by such an unsteady material. I wish it would have been tough as nails. 

Your silent peace, that you aren’t even aware of, is projecting unto me.

Struck between a dream and a moment you peer out, everything probably blurred because you don’t put your contacts in until after 10 in the morning, just to make sure I didn’t turn into a doll or a stone. Quickly proceeding, you return back to your hibernation.

Soothing tones of triangle being lightly played, mixed with jazz seep into the room. I find it calming. 

My eyelids finally begin to fall heavy. I’m hoping to meet you in that field. Maybe we will end up eating peaches together, or just gaze at one another. Either way, I’m falling under now.

—  kj