He got it up for you last night four times, but he couldn't pick up the phone over the past four months. Despite his Harry Styles-esque looks and promises of perfection, you deserve a hell of a lot better.

//

My bed sheets are the only witness that we were anything more than 'just friends'.

So when we stand for trial on heavy hearts, I'll show those burnt sheets, stained with tears and touches, as proof that you once looked at me with love.

//

There's no title to this, but everyone knows we're 'us'.

//

Easily forgiven- memories of linked fingers and locked lips.

We're linked together, locked like my backpack- turning on conveyer belts in third-world countries.

//

Your couch-surfing tendencies seemed sweet and hopeful and I fell in love.

But I'm kicking you out and it turns out that the room you lived in for five months was my heart, and by you leaving, there's a cold spot on my couch, in my bed and in my life.

//

I don't need you, but I find myself writing shitty poems about you in another country- comparing your heart to the size of the Himalayas around me. Huge and a little bit daunting.

//


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