Winter Song

Do you have memories that are oft forgotten, but a certain smell, or sound can trigger the memory to play so vividly you feel every single thing you felt that night.

Winter, brings the pain and the heartbreak for me. The snow crunching beneath my feet. I was eighteen, I was wild and beautiful and I was walking home at four in the morning with a man almost twice my age and two hundred dollars worth of cocaine in my pocket.

I was so happy. The air hurt my face, and Carl and I spilt his last cigarette. The night was blurred but I remember being in his bed. I remember him telling me he cared. I remember the lyrics he wrote about me. And that he couldn’t sleep with me.

He said he wanted to and that I was beautiful. But I think he just wanted to take care of me.

Advertisements

The Night The Sea Swallowed Me

I hurt so deeply 
And you were afraid of drowning 

I can’t blame you for this

I’ve been floating in it since I was 12

The hurt feels like home now

But fuck

You can’t run every time the water hits the shore 

All I needed was a lifeguard 

And you disappeared 

Shatter

I didn’t love him. 

But he loved the parts of me I couldn’t stand. 

So we played house 

Until I burt it to the ground. 

I Hope She Makes You Miserable 

Lipstick stained cigarettes and old bookshops will remind you of me even if you can’t remember what you’re remembering. 

Mirror: Part Five

The day went by. Different than before, I went outside today. I walked to a coffeeshop and brought along the book and I watched life happen around me. It was beautiful. Things were different today, I looked up in the mirror about the coffeehouse sofa, my face done up, my hair brushed, and a dress covering the frightful sight of an unloved body. I called my mother today, she said she’s come by to see me multiple times, I don’t recall, but I don’t tell her than. I come home while my boyfriend is at a meeting. I think of all the good things that have filled my day. I think of all the hurt that filled the past months.

I don’t remember smashing the mirror. But I do remember the feeling of the glass against the soft flesh of my wrist.