When things get bad, we run towards the airport in our dreams but wake up before we catch our flights.
When things get bad, I start wearing pink to look less destroyed,
I start sleeping with lights on but nightmares still don’t stop.
I start wearing a darker shade of red and kissing more men that won’t care to know my last name.
I stop them when they want something more.
I text reckless ( read : Honest ) messages and laugh with mouth full of blood cause I know I won’t get a reply.
I choose cheap vodka over champagne and smile pretty. That’s the only thing that gets people to stick around before they realize they don’t want to.
I read old texts and cry over the basin. I want to throw up at the thought of thinking someone else will know me the way he does. I scatter glitter and razors all around my room. The aftermath is full of hurt but I’ll make sure it’s glorious. Like a car accident, the shards of glass just before they pierce through. That moment when everything is spectacular and you can’t look away. All grand. And then there is a blackout.
If I was more brave I would have probably screamed
I NEVER WANTED YOU TO FIX ME, I JUST WANTED YOU TO STAY.
But I’m not so I settle for margaritas and unreturned phone calls.