If I Tremble

i like it that way

once his hands were up her shirt, now they are on his cold cup of coffee...

once she was his muse, now she is his regret, not regret of his past but his regret of letting his muse go.

you see everyone has a muse, but muses come hard and fast, they end, they burn, like an open flame, she was my muse, the person I loved, i fucked up, but so did she, i am a fuck up and so was she.

no longer does the boy sipping arizona fantasise over the girl with long, brown hair, no more can he hurt her. he is empty.