It’s 2 am again,

And here you go forcing it

Telling me dreams that you wanna pursue

But I know that career isn’t right for you.

Ignoring me, ‘cus all you wanna hear is you.

You love to hear yourself talk

Trying to score in all your luck,

Put it in your mouth and bury it

Or see if you can find a way to carry it

Can’t you see?

You have to make peace

This died a long time ago.

You talk about the world being so blind

But you can’t see,

You can’t see the lies behind your own eyes,

the lies that are fighting in your mind.

Hoping you’d be right, this whole time.

I hope you find comfort when your head is in between her thighs.

I hope she doesn’t get angry because you forgot to send her a fucking text.

I hope you find comfort in her when she deals with your distinctive bad habits, better than I could.

I hope when she invites you over, it’s because she misses you and not because she’s lonely.

I hope when she says the words, “I love you” you can feel it undoubtedly and it brings music to your ears.

I hope you find peace with her perfect smile.

I hope she doesn’t suck her teeth, or roll her eyes whenever you’ve had a rough day like I used to.

I hope when she touches you, it’s a gentle rub so you can feel her warmth whenever you are shivering with your bottom-of-the-barrel freezing thoughts.

I hope she isn’t as jealous or possessive as me.

I hope her words don’t slice you open in half when she’s mad, the way I used to without thinking.

I hope she finds your jokes funny, because I couldn’t.

I hope she can calm you down during your break downs, because I never could.

I just hope…

I’m thinking,

Ruminating about someone,

Someone who makes me fumble…

Stumble over my words.

Someone who makes me rationalize,

Rationalize eight times and once more about the choices I make.

He gets infuriated,

Enraged with every poor,

unfortunate,

negligent decision I make.

With a voice that can sting your eyes,

he says, “I want more for you, more than what I want for myself”

He knows I’ll destroy him, like I do with myself constantly, willingly.

He’s tried everything, to keep me sane.

But he has no more moves left,

he doesn’t want this game of misery to end.

His mother didn’t teach him well, I suppose.

To teach him,

When he’s all alone at night,

Stressing over whether to take the flight or stand there and take the fight,

When his hands are cold, trembling

When he is over analyzing the words to send to my screen,

When his insides are screaming with anger to get out,

When he dives in a deep sea of hopelessness

To walk away, to leave, because the game is over.

She should’ve taught him better.