Poetic Relapse.

An Ultimatum.

My breaths are choppy when you kiss me without warning on crowded busses, and I can't help but warn my brain that you're only here for now.

These petal soft lips and high cheekbones that have been traced by the finger tips of Adonis that I wish to call home are nothing but a set symphony of lies.

We're at the mall and I point out a skirt that I like and you offer to buy it for me, I kindly decline and tell you that I don't need it. Much like how I don't need your arms around my waist, much like my heart when I say it doesn't race at the ding on my phone when you text me and say you want to see me face to face. And my stomach drops when I see your ethereal beauty that a single man shouldn't be able to behold but I can see these scars glittered with gold and hidden behind jokes that are told on the train and I can't get your petal soft lips out of my brain.

At 3 am, there is no ultimatum, no option besides to think of you when I'm talking to someone who likes me and I like them too and even though that is the truth, I'm stuck in a loop that I can't be removed from even though you may be holding someone else at the same time you call me your Dulcinea.

You haven't called me that in about two months and I miss the sound. I miss the way you'd hold my hand if we went through a crowd to make sure my short stature wasn't lost among loud noises and tall people and my legs can't keep up with my thoughts and I feel a ripple.

This ripple is the thought of a possibility. A possibility in which I can't control, the possibility of you not having these strong feelings for me since I fucked up and I can't believe I hurt you without realizing and the possibilities tear the glue holding me together when I'm not with you and I'm in the tub with something sharp and my skin is torn, much like the strings in my heart when you say you cant be with me like that.

I just need options, but you seem to be the only one, a poisonous glass of water on the hottest of summer nights...