horribly beautiful ✔️

i have written three hundred and nintey six poems and none of them complete you

i thought about your mind and how it perfectly opposed mine.

our friendship was like a field of TNT

and when it blew up
the whole world mistook it for art.

so in pursuit of a better reputation

i became an artist,
and i covered my skin in tubes of paint rather than your contravening words.

your tongue, is it still lollipop red?

is your hair still like uncooked wheat spaghetti-
or are some photos better left deleted?

our relationship was like marking x on an empty map,

bringing me to wonder if there would ever
be a world without his copper tongue

and only your golden eyes,

a voice that smells like lemon drops

and eyebrows drawn by ticonderoga pencil lines.

or have you left me as an insomniac,
drunk on midnight thoughts,

bitter on coffee cups

and three hundred ninety six poems left unused.

all those poems
are worth nothing

more than a collection of  words

i found
at a ninety-nine cent store,

but i sold your soul
for so much more.