Take it back, take it all back, honey, before it starts to hurt. Let's not ruin this with words.

Regret is a flame that burns brighter than any other.

Goodbye to sleep

The flames licked its fuel. Soft tongues wrapping around the very thing it was destroying. Their soft wavering fingers wrapping around the door, digging in and then smoothing over its marks. The bright oranges, muted reds, and soft yellows curling around the frame holding it up. Sizzling, cackling, the pops of warm dampened wood released gasps of air into the kiss of fire.

The flames intertwined itself around the body, curling around the details of the house, devouring everything in sight. It worked its way slowly through the rooms, caressing the walls, kissing the contents of each room softly. It was a deep seduction, the flames slowly overtaking the structure, leaving its mark forever on the skeleton. The building sighed, welcoming the touch of fire. The burnt end of a match curled up onto itself erasing all evidence of a start.

Somewhere outside, she sighed. A slim matchbox twirled through her fingers. She watched the path of the fire as it danced before her eyes. The wind twirled the flames around and whipped her hair behind her head. She welcomed the sensations and reveled in the sounds of the crackling fire. The burned, blackened remains slowly revealing themselves before her.

As the fire died down she pivoted slowly on her heel and took a step forward, leaving the destruction at her back. She fisted her hand around the matchbox and then pocketed it with a small sigh. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of release. A fire danced in her eyes as she slowly reopened them. She was free.

I sometimes wish things ended differently.

He took a small drag from his cigarette. Everything in this goddamned apartment reminded him of her - he couldn't get away from it. Perched on his windowsill, he shoved the window open just a bit further and watched as the smoke snaked away from his lips. Glancing back into his apartment whispers of memories clawed at his subconscious. Jesus, he needed to get a grip. She was just a fuckin' girl.

As his eyes glanced over different parts of his apartment he could see her figure dancing her way throughout the apartment, clad in nothing but socks and his white Morrissey t-shirt that she loved so damn much that she took it when she left. He could see the messy bun of her hair with wisps dancing across her cheeks as she swayed clutching a cup of coffee. He could see the coy smile she would send his way as she bounced over to the record player changing the disk and wriggling her little bum as she shifted through the collection lying in a plastic milk crate. She was always antsy, never able to sit still even for a minute. He could see the small moment where she would close her eyes and sigh, inhaling the smell of her coffee and leaning against the record player as soul music would fill the room - the deep rumblings of a baritone voice filling air. He could still feel the weight of her gaze as she would open her eyes and look at him through lowered eyelashes. He could still envision the slight upturn of her plump lips, the way that her legs looked with smudges of charcoal left behind from his fingers. Good god, he was dying.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the windowpane. The cool breeze clearing his mind for a brief minute. He looked out at the fire escape, remembering the night they had sat on the edge of it, watching the stars. He could remember the weight of her body as she fell asleep on his shoulder. He could still hear her voice as she played with his long curls and told him how much she loved his irish accent. Christ. He was gonna chop off all of his hair. It didn't matter anymore, she was gone. The red coat that he loved so much was no longer hanging by the door. Her small ballet flats were removed from their place next to his shoes. She was gone. He eyed the open water bottle sitting on his counter, imagining the countless others that had filled that spot in the past. He shifted his gaze over the countess pieces of newspaper covering his floor, cream-colored sheets covered in dashes of lines, curves of a stomach, angles of an elbow. He was a mess. His apartment was a mess. He took another drag of his cigarette.

It was raining outside. A torrential downpour, a storm that fit his mood. The rumbles of thunder filed his ears and he blew another length of smoke out of the window. He shifted his feet and accidentally knocked over the bottle sitting at his feet. Shite, he'd have to wipe that up. Feeling sorry for himself he calmly regarded the amber liquid seeping out and forming a small puddle at his feet. He could imagine the floor getting sticky, the foam floating out as the bottle gushed out small rivers of fluid. He watched as the puddle slowly expanded, dampening his sock and slowly making its way across his hardwood floor. He could officially care less.

With a sigh he got up and slipped off his socks, gathering them in a ball and trudging his way to the sink. He tossed the socks into the bathroom as he made his way to the kitchen, ripping a piece of paper-towel off the the roll. He grabbed another and ran it under the sink, watching as the water slicked over its surface, waiting to see how long it took until the entire sheet was damp. He sighed and shut off the water, wringing out the now damp paper towel and slowly made his way back to the window. Crouching, he set the bottle upright and picked up as much fluid as possible with the dry paper-towel wringing the excess into the bottle and removing its sticky aftermath with the wet towel.

He was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the knock on the door. Almost. Ever since she left he felt as if he was constantly aware of his door, his phone, anything that could connect her to him. The knock repeated itself and he dropped the towels, unaware of the reason why he was holding them in the first place. Like a ghost, he drifted over to the door, trying to swallow the useless hope that on the other side her face lay waiting for him. He flipped the lock nd pulled the door open.

He felt like the breath was knocked out of him. Almost as if his mind was playing a trick on him, he blinked once slowly. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking at him under the drenched waves of her hair, dripping water all over the floor. He breathed her name, almost afraid that she'd disappear. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes and bit her lip.

"Callum... I..."

"I thought you..."

"I couldn't. Callum, I need you."

Her words filled his body, he felt like he was returned to life. He pulled her to him by the lapels of that damned red coat and slid a hand through her hair, no longer caring for the stickiness of his fingers. Smashing his lips to hers he could only think of one thing.

Oh god, she's back. Oh god, how he loved her.

I was bored, it was raining, I was in the mood. I guess I'm just a secret sap at heart. Just a small dabble of writing.

I'm grasping at straws and chasing the wind

There's something inside of me,

it's clawing to get out.

I can feel it pawing at my chest

its claws digging into my soul.

I feel so caged by myself

It's almost as if I've tied these chains.

It was never my intention to fall apart

the shackles were to hold myself together

The cracks are beginning to show,

spiderwebbing throughout my hard exterior

I'm not nearly as strong as you think I am.

I'm merely human.

I need other people,

I need comfort,

I need you.

But you were never mine to have

were you?

let me free

release the claws from my heart.

You've torn off your piece,

let me keep the rest in pieces.

I need a small part of myself to call my own.

I feel like I don't know myself anymore,

I don't know what I'm hiding inside.

I'm a monster.

"I fall on my face over and over again."

If only I had the luxury of retrospect.

It's sad when you realize that the people who you thought were friends are really people placing masks up against their faces masquerading as friends when they're really just using you to pass the time. I guess you only get what you deserve. I'm overeager. I'm too devoted to everything. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Big deal. I'd rather live with the intentions of living than live using people to pass the time. It just hurts to have your heart ripped out. I've had mine trampled over so many times that it feels tattered, torn. It's broken now, only just barely functioning. I'm tired of all of this bullshit. Why bother using all of that necessary energy to just take in one more breath when all that will come out of it is regret and disappointment? I'm drowning. But that's ok. It'll be alright. Maybe that's all I can ever hope for - being just alright. Maybe that's all I'll ever get. Maybe that's all I deserve. All I know is that I'm okay with just being alright. Maybe alright is all I can ever hope for, just alright. Maybe I like my life as a mess, maybe I like all of this destruction as everything falls to pieces. I want my life the way it's best: when its falling apart. Happiness is a dream, something I can yearn for, something that is nearly impossible to achieve, something I'll die trying to accomplish.

"I've got you, I've got you on my mind."

She was dressed to kill. Or at least she would've been if anyone could've seen her. She glided into the room, her long glittering dress swishing around her legs, the material hugging her like a second skin. Her heels click-clacked across the floor. She was a vision of beauty, her long blonde hair done up in an elegantly loose up-do on-top of her head. She slipped into the room, her slender fingers grazing across the surfaces she passed. She approached the young girl sitting in the middle of the room, an air of calmness, of elegance, of peace surrounding her. She tenderly bent down and brushed the hair behind the crying girl's ear. Leaning down, she parted her soft red lips and whispered two words into the girls ear. Tenderly watching the girl as she sniffled and nodded, seemingly to herself. The girl, who had been formerly sitting on her bed, her legs curled up under her hands, lifted her head as a small smile graced her features. She brushed away her tears and slowly unfurled herself. She got up and slipped out the door, a new sense of purpose filling her being. The lady watched as the girl left, a smile flitting across her face. She stood to her full height and glided back out of the door, her job done. The words she whispered surrounded her like a warm jacket as she stepped outside, holding her up straighter as she walked down the streets illuminated in the glow of the streetlights. Two simple words from the wisdom of an invisible voice. The voice representing all things woman. "Get even."

"J'adore l'amour et je veux ton revenge."

Sit by me softly

A tender moment reserved for us alone.

We'll bask in each other's glow,

holding hands and gazing at each other lovingly.

Or am I wrong?

Is this just a mere joke,

a sitcom played out to your desires

Tune in next time,

maybe it'll be something new.

Stay by the TV,

You'll be just in time to see our heroine.

Watch as her heart gets ripped out,

it's nothing new, right?

That happens everyday.

But look closely. You can't break her.

She's stronger now.

No longer skin and bone.

She's grown stronger and you've just withered away.

Deserving of what you've gotten.

No one'll love you now.

You think you've won, but it's just the beginning.