i. Last night, we broke another record.
Soon, your name will be going from the top of my most contacted list to the bottom.
I remember it was a Saturday night, the night you left, and you cried for her for the first time. I cried for you. In ink.
I told you that you don't deserve this, and you said you knew.
I asked you to let go. You said you wanted to, but you didn't know how to walk away from the only girl who could ever even try to be in love with you.

ii. You don't talk about the voices you would hear inside your head, anymore. I don't remember if you lied. I don't remember what you sound like.

iii. Choosing roses over dandelions is human nature.
Prettier is better.
But dandelions don't have thorns. Not like roses do.

iv. He told me once that I need to stop being your hotel room. Stop being the girl you fuck when you feel lonely. I deserve to be someone's home. I want to be your home.

v. Yesterday, I told my friends to stop me when I spoke about you,
To list those traits that you possess that might make me stop liking you,
But the things they list are the things I loved most about you.
Like your funny accent.
The way you walked.
Your little bipolar antics.
Or your playlist.

vi. Sometimes I don't know who I'm writing about.
The heartbreaks seem to merge into one.
I know your metaphors perfectly now. This one is all about you.

vii. There is a new guy in my life, now.
There are many.
I can't stop seeing your grey in his brown eyes.
I can't stop finding brick kilns in his voice.

viii. My mother once told me that people who stay, have sometimes already left.
I saw you walk away from me the night she told you she missed someone else,
Which is why I don't know what to say when you ask me what I'm doing.
I'm missing you. I'm writing you shitty poems. I'm filling my playlist with your favorite songs. I'm letting go. I'm holding on.

ix. I want to fill this empty space inside my heart, but nothing does it for me now.
Not even you.

x. The poetry was lost somewhere in the third line of this poem.
I'm still writing because this is the only way I bleed.
Your absence used to poetic, it isn't anymore.

xi. I know I'm going to stop liking you, one day, but I don't know how to stop loving you. Teach me how, because I know you already hate yourself.