P O E T R Y

with human placebos

and..and..fuck this shit

I’m trying to write about how school sucks

and

validate my sadness; listening to X and Joji,

because they make sadness sound cool

But the truth is I’m in love with you,

my dear human placebo,

you are my soul-killer

and

not much of a safe haven.

the wind was still

the way you looked at the sun

the center of your universe

with sand in your hair

a pang of jealousy in my chest.

I knew you'd be trouble

and i let myself in

in your world of wild flowers(just like you)

cotton candy skies and the muse

of waves crashing

while you danced half naked

to it.

But the only muse I would like to dance to is the way you call my name

your whimpers and laughter

like drumbeat on my heart

over and over again.

You, the only reason

to breath and the death of me,

I should've known when all the times

you wanted to plant and blossom flowers

rather than me bringing them to your doorstep.

Selfish as it sounds,

I wanted me to be your center

of universe,

not the sun or the ocean or wild flowers or any of those things that brought a gleam to your eyes

but me, only me.

You may not call this love but fuck it, it sure feels like it so

Let's pretend it is.

like Johnny

with a jar of sugar

not showing everyone

the honey on my

lips and your fingertips

but if you're going to

call me sugar

don't treat me like a

milk-stained

cereal bowl.

i've washed all of it

down with tears

from boys & girls

breaking

my internet heart

way too many times

for any innocence to

be

not anymore

more like my bed

now

kinda want to stay forever

kinda have to leave

i tend to choose the latter

but

(as sad as this sounds)

alcohol and Lana playing on the radio

are stronger

than my willpower.

some violent hurricanes

and

a little too much

sound of the sea

but he still looks at her

like she's got lightning

in her bones.

stamped at the back of your head

As you walked around,

pretty face with cherry lips

and blue eyes

but

no matter how beautiful winter is it's still cold, so cold

I could see it in the glint of your eyes

But you were proud, so proud

looking like something in a

Gucci store.

and just like that we somehow

owed you a look

a stare and touch the seams

of your perfect hair.

your edges, your seams, the way you were crafted so beautifully,

we forgot the price tag you came with,

even if it said-

a drunk girl, a sly hand traveling up your skirt, a heartbeat and then a heartbreak including

a ticket to the slut-meter.

we never saw it, we refused to.

so women here and there

wore you like a crown

now and then,

I'll tell you this, they looked beautiful but not all,

you forced yourself on some,

a guilty women who spent her money on something too beautiful for her own good,

we pay the price and you

chug it down with 3 beers

cracked open with the boys.

we weren't happy customers

we were your palate cleanser.

Sorry, to say this

you're out of season now

way out of the trends, love.

So stop taking-

maybe next time, later, my parents aren't home, i like you,

for an answer.

My answer is a big fat "No"

(Like it's always been)

and that is exactly what you will

take it as.