Second Lover

I'm a little fucked up and my mind is racing a million miles an hour while my thighs and fingers freeze in the chapel and my nipples are a bit cold, can you just imagine? I stuck my hand to the window and watched it fog around my pores and fingertips. Extremities are always the first to go; my pinkie toe was broken when I was born and now we've gotten all the way to my knees, congrats on being alive, you're soo fragile now that you are. Feeling as if I could lay on wood for hours in an unbuttoned shirt that smelled like the most delicious thing ever to reach my nostrils, I decided that I couldn't be a robot anymore and I was just wasting my time with 'help' from a blue pill. Treatment for a disease that does not course through my veins- why was I punished for being in love? No matter why, I miss feeling as if I could fly when people said certain things, or feeling at home with just a glass of tea that's soo sacred to me I forgot how to breathe just because everything was manic to me. Manic happiness gets scary sometimes and I dunno how to fix it when it comes along so I just hide under my comforter with Mr. Checkhov and he writes me to sleep. I like to imagine what it would be like sometimes if I were the moon instead of something so fragile. One shot and I'm out, young ones aren't supposed to drink or smoke because they're soo small and cute they might pass out. 
We fought for four hours when you brought her along and I rammed the car into the parking spot and stomped my way to the fast food restaraunt just to turn on you, venom locked in vicious words, and hug you. I have every right to be upset and every right to be soo angry and soo wounded that I can run and swim just for the high and smoke a cigarette right afterwards to make you understand. I was allowed to do whatever the fuck I wanted for a night and I spent it locked in an office with a nice guy and watched the moon bleach my skin blue with nice tan lines. J says it's because I'm the right kind of girl and I'm strong and nice and attractive, but what it doesn't know is that I sleep all the time just because I love to dream. He stood there while I slept and combed his fingers through my thin hair and let me listen to his hollow chest speak and tell me stories of little boys taking on the world one precious city at a time. He woke up with one leg draped over his little hips and my small fist full of the cotton of his shirt and smiled down at me while disentangling me from my death hold on his person. I woke up without knowing where he was and feeling as if I had done something wrong until found a letter with my name on it that said 'i love you, went to get donuts.' scribbled on it and my heart broke with joy and the seniment.