I always wake up in the middle of the night now
Which is odd, considering that’s when I fall asleep,
But my body is sick of the tinny chirps of my alarm
And it’s decided to rely
On the restlessness of my brain instead.
They say that every day is a blank canvas
But darling, yesterday
Your lips pressed so hard the stain surely soaked through several pages.
I’ve never liked the idea of tattoos
But what else do you call this ink on my skin?
There was always too much space in your heart,
And too few things to fill it with.
So please, write me into your heart
So that I may not have to tear mine apart writing you into my poetry.
That night on the way home, it began to pour,
And I wondered how raindrops knew
To fall into my eyes exactly,
Because I don’t remember ever opening up to the sky
And I’ve never asked it to open up to me, either.
Recently, I’ve been thinking-
I think I’d rather dwell on memories set in stone
Than create new moments I try my hardest to forget.
I know backwards is not the way to go,
But maybe if I flip the world around
It won’t seem so wrong.
So tell me again,
How the moon tore a hole in the sky
Just to peer down at the Earth,
And stars gather in clusters
Just so they don’t have to go at it alone-
Maybe then I won’t feel so lonely.
Please, show me how to sew myself together,
Because all I know about needles is
Trickles of blood from pierced skin.