The last time I saw you was in a dream, you were in my room, staring out of the window. You looked so soft. Something about the dream lingers on through my days, I still smell like you, sometimes. I knew the day I saw you that you were made to break my heart, and I also knew that I would let you, and now you have so how do I make this pain go away? I try and I try to make poetry out of blood but my words are running out and there is nothing soft about either of us, you are flintstone and I am like the dull edge of broken glass.
I know I asked you not to but I wish you would call me tonight.
