Beginning Again and Again and Again

i say to her face

but she follows me everywhere

How am I going to get space?

our hands have turned red,

with how much blood

has been on them

if we didn’t deserve it,

I'd have a guilty conscience.

we sleep in separate beds,

mine flowery and calming.

Her bed, however, is a coffin.

we are like bonnie and clyde,

her and i.

if we could touch,

our skin would be alight

after every fire we set.

she never looks as beautiful

as when she’s breaking down,

her red hands bring out 

the blue in her eyes,

i keep telling her,

we need to change

but she thinks we are better

when we stay the same.

and maybe she's right,

maybe it won’t be good again,

if we do get better

but if i know one thing,

it's that

she’ll be the death of me.

and i, her,

because we can only see each other

I watch you, and your hands are soft but your voice is softer and your eyes are on me.

And you make me laugh because you like the sound and I never thought that the room I take up in this place could be beautiful.

I miss you when I blink but I know how each ridge of your hand feels in mine and that is all I remember sometimes.