He's Just Not That In Love With You

Have you ever felt the broken guitar string, and the way it slices veins? The words that slither from your lips cut and make me bleed just the same. As it slips into your mouth you savour every droplet on your many tongues. Before I turn to leave, you kiss my wound and breathe smokeless love into my lungs. You’re just not it love with me, but its not something I claimed to be. I hate to hear the girls that scream, “he’s just not that in love with, just not that in love with you. Go on sweetie, find someone new.” Everything I saw him touch turned to glass and cracked under his weight. Broken promises swung under his words that we’d meet again by fate. I loved him for his messy hair, the words that spilled from his mouth, he was my anarchist. I should have known it could never last when I tasted poison on his kiss. You’re just not it love with me, but its not something I claimed to be. I hate to hear the girls that scream, “he’s just not that in love with, just not that in love with you. Go on sweetie, find someone new.” You love from your oleander heart, tainted by your pastel poison. I wish someone had warned of the pain before I let it begin. Dripping into my bloodstream is the pulse of my regrets. I hate the day you said good bye, but I know I’ll never forget. You’re just not it love with me, but its not something I claimed to be. I hate to hear the girls that scream, “he’s just not that in love with, just not that in love with you. Go on sweetie, find someone new.”