i’m just waiting for you to tell me
all the ways love isn’t enough.
i don’t think i’d blame you.
after all, i was the one who ate the apple;
you were just the man that loved me
without knowing what love was.
see the fruit in my hand and remember
adam and eve. persephone and hades.
remember the ways that I betray you,
remember my fascination with the snake in the grass,
remember that I am just a girl with pomegranate lips
and I will continue to poison you.
we are the same constellation in the sky,
but i am just a nebula and you are still
living, breathing, existing; you are
light entering my eyes–
we exist within the same sphere,
we are already a billion light years
and a whole galaxy apart.
Why does the beginning always feel like the end?
every breath you take is just foreshadowing the moment your lungs cease.
every beat of your heart is a beat closer to slowing.
every word from your mouth might be the last to touch your lips.
when you touch my skin I feel like a dying star, moments away from supernova.
when you enter my bloodstream, I feel the way my pulse changes to accommodate you.
why does it feel like every time we’re ending, we’re just breaths away from the next heartbeat?
I spent an entire lifetime believing you could save me from darkness, not realizing you were the very sun casting the shadows.
Don’t listen when they call you nice. Nice girls don’t sleep with married men. Nice girls can fall in love.
Nice girls break.
But you, you just keep writing the story.