lame as hell

I walk in the room

I’m not done with you. This sounds selfish and it might be, But I can’t let you leave. There are so many things we’ve left unsaid, And lessens you’ve yet to teach me. I still need you so please don’t go.

writing prompt #66, write about november. november likes to set her hair on fire; is that why she always smells like she’s burning? a fact about november is that, she is the girl you find pieces of everywhere; red nail-polish and scattered strands of hair. she writes love poems in red ink, and blows kisses in the wind. november is the one all the boys fall in love with; she’ll seduce you with rose eyes, sleepless nights and heavy 4am sighs, but only for december does she shed her leaves, november’s got death up her sleeve. and if you’ve ever known november you’ll know she is a heartbreaker; she’ll leave your lips chapped and you’ll bite your teeth and she’ll remind you that not all things beautiful taste sweet.

could’ve been your cigarette, caught between your lips or your fingers instead i was discarded like your two-o’clock-smoke break, crushed beneath your foot and left to burn out. you only think i’m that easy to get rid of. i hated that about you: you made me feel the most vulnerable, felt the heat rise through my chest from my throat and my fingers shake at the thought of you holding me now.

I was just waiting for you to want me as much as I wanted you.

Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.