"i don't want to."

"we were always nothing then."

rose colored reds,
frustration,
anger,
flowing out of my lips like wine down my throat,
dripping down my skin
on the canvas where i stand,
pronounced with a single 'beep',
and they don't leave.

it brings color to my skin,
shunned by the moonlight,
memories rushing through as if i really can't remember each one,
each second,
each moment—

i know i'm in the wrong,
but i can't help wanting to be right.

color is draining out of me,
and i don't know what i am represented with anymore,
just a bit longer,
just a bit,
until i can become a bit more opaque,
in this tranquil destruction of colors,
where will i find one complimentary to these shifting shades?

when will i realize,
know,
and repent because i accept too much for me to hold,
because time wants me to succumb to herself as i, and i as herself— both of which is me, but so different,
the different mirrored images distort at each gaze and pixel that makes up my face,
the first place i had hidden becomes insignificant,
and that stubbornness will stay, even if i don't want it to.

i give in,
i pull,
and i lose because i fall—
the breath of fresh air seems eternal to the earth,
but never to me as of now,
for which the ocean breeze,
surely won't blow my way.

instead the forest smoke billowing in the sky,
covered with grays,
blacks,
reds,
and all i've ever known,
coming so i can breathe not in my own skin,
but the cigarette that i've chewed and smoked on for hours,
hoping to find that eclipse so i can be better than i seem,
that moonlight in the distance;
come to me,
let me dip my hands in the oceans of salted tears and words,
and feel it against my cheeks.

they are dusted with regret and greed,
and all the sins of the world begins to believe that i can be their savior of the fire,
when i can't even hold on to one hand to say sorry.

i only know so much—
how for everything to slip through my fingertips,
like bruised lips on thorns of bliss,
to kiss onto skin,
to rupture,
break,
to want to heal,
but the scar remains and everything once perfect has been pained,
please, prove me wrong,
let me reach that zenith so i can never fall.

i relapse into that part of me i've hidden,
a hymn,
a song
that i want to sing on the streets that i've walked on,
dimly lit,
observantly noticing the rain dripping onto the ground of yesterday's sorrows into today's delight,
he left and the petals are dropping,
my mind tangling in strings that i've never played,
keys that i've touched,
flowers i've never smelled.

there had always been just one hand i've always wanted to hold,
and lips that i wanted to touch,
those which were so warm,
that bitter coffee alone in the cold,
a neon stricken from the blue,
a first wind,
in my way so that my hair covers my eyes and i don't know who to see,
whose hands i belong to,
and
there
was–

him.