I'm
Tired
Of
B
R
E
A
T
H
I
N
G

Tired of

S
E
   E
    I
     N
       G

This hatred in humanity
And
The
Delicates
Being

T    O     R    N

Apart
So quickly
Without listening
To their glistening
Fragile
Beautiful words

Pain is necessary

so I noticed that we both drink coffee.
just like anyone, we both like ours a certain way.
i like mine sweeter, with just the aftertaste of coffee there.
caramel, sugar, creamer.
i think about when i’ll have my next cup, and the idea of it alone makes me happy.
i don’t care what time of day i have it, i almost always have a cup.
i make time for my coffee.
it might be safe to say i think you like your coffee black.
you might add just the smallest touch to soften its bitter taste, but never too much.
sometimes i think you just pour it and carry on, as though it’s nothing important at all.
as though all it is, is just some quick fix.
like you just want to get it over with.
we drink it in two different ways.
i drink it slowly.
i note every flavor in every sip, i enjoy it.
i note the warmth it brings me.
i like it all hours of the day.
you drink it quickly.
quicker than me, at least.
you don’t care if it burns your tongue, or perhaps you’re used to the pain.
you accept it.
you never let it last, you move on to something else soon after.
i lay in your bed, watching your eyes as they skim the screen in front of you.
your mind is somewhere else.
i savor the moments you look my way, if even for a second, and smile at me.
i wonder if you even notice them.
i feel your laugh vibrate my bones, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
do i make you feel at all?
i reflect on it every time i drink my coffee.
i think about it with each and every sip, taking my time.
something tells me that you don’t do the same.
after all, it's just coffee.
but i put my all into this coffee.
i think you like your coffee black.

you are seventeen and he is younger but so much bigger. you feel like a doll in his palm. you are unaware that his hands between your legs is a contract. He lays you down on your back, and you turn your heard to the TV. Moana is playing.

2. he pulls you to his chest and you whisper, "promise me I won't regret it." he smiles and kisses your forehead. the next day, he tells you he doesn't know if he loves you or not. you regret it.

3. you are almost asleep and his hands keep wandering. you close your eyes tighter. you wish you were dead.

4. he tells you that you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but you know that it's the only way to keep him from leaving. Afterwards, he wipes the tears from your chin and holds you close to his heart, so gentle and soft. you almost feel at home.

5. he leaves. You have to begin picking up the pieces somewhere but you never really find out where to start. a year passes. It has been twelve months of rain but the sun begins to peak out behind its curtain of clouds. you rest.

There's really something in the way
you breaking my heart ends up
sounding like a love song.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Throughout this soundtrack that I call my life,
       your heart is the beat,
          your voice is the lyrics,
   your soul is the slow and steady rhythm,
             your kisses are the chorus
       and your face is the album art.
Without you,
  I would never hear music the same again.