playlist of you

play.

sitting, waiting, watching the darkness
creep in from my window pane
filled with a widow's pain.
three a.m. is a popular time of night.
three a.m. is the time of night when i
miss you the most;
it's when i lose control
and almost dial your number,
but the petals of our dying flower, blooming again
are blocking the way for me once again.
i feel drunk off the way i need you when my eyes never close,
because i'm afraid of the baby-blue angel's eyes that await me.
i don't want to sleep because the first boy i ever loved
is set to music going
"baby... take me back."
i gave up on him because of the way his hands haunted me at night
because i never quite understood the way they felt in mine.
and now, when i close my eyes,
i see red, cogulated blood on the corners of your eyes
from crying too long.
we all want something beautiful,
but lately my nights have been filled with nightmares
of your eyes turning blue while i'm kissing you.
i wake up screaming,
rocking back and forth to the beat of the music [or lack thereof]...

skip.

...and telling myself fairy tales
of happy endings.
it makes me sick how i can't sleep
and sickness keeps me awake at night.
escoliosis has screwed up your spinal cord
and i can't help but wonder if it was the
insomnia that redirected your vertebrae
until it was so out of shape.
i never really liked things that were exactly how they should be,
so ever since i was a child,
i would sit in broken chairs to try to
change the shape of my body to clash with yours.
but the way your bones have been so beautifully broken
clashes perfectly with the way i dance.
i have dreams of you looking at me with your spiraling eyes
spiraling into mine.

pause.

it's funny how a change of background music can
change nightmare poetry to the way i love the dreams you give me.

repeat.