All my molten melancholia rise from the dead

as I do; it's insane thinking about you,

but I do.

I know you probably hate me now,

but trust me, darling: it isn't over yet.

We are both afraid 'cause we'd

break each other again — but I don't care anymore.

Burn me as long as you can.

Poison my heart as much as you can.

Dip my fingertips into blue as deep as you can.

Oh, darling, I want to start over again.

You once said there could never be a happy end

to classical star-crossed lovers.

I said that was stupid, but now I know

how empty it feels, standing here, waiting for you, oh.

I can see us twisted in yellow Sunday memories,

and you're slipping away like a sip of margarita.

You were never mine, only etched on my bare limbs—

How pitiful of them they could never feel the burn.

The summer air smells of lemongrass and tequila,

not like you as it does.

The dust swirled over and over,

whispering maroon secrets and blooming chaos.

I've been waiting for your last message

to light up my phone screen at 2 a.m.

"Meet me behind the park."

And I'd cancel all my plans and reach there ten minutes earlier.

But it never happened, for you were broken

and too afraid to show up again.

I used to lie on my couch all day,

and think of the memories that

tasted like rust and salt—

Hoping that you'd come in anytime now,

and say we are getting back again.

A few blackbirds abandoned our songs.

I'm wet in tears against the cold concrete wall.

The late-night cries echo off their laughter.

I looked up from underneath:

No lights shining, no stories trashing

The narrow alleys of haunted lanes.

You're too loud, and I'm too silent—

but we're freezing: bleeding roses and clutched lilies.

You were the last girl I fell for.

But at the end of the party,

you didn't look back once

before taking your heels and driving home.

My shirt was stained in your lipstick,

and my lips with your beating heart.

I couldn't stop the colors from flying above—

and I knew I was in love, oh.

But you washed away soon after the night was gone.

You never showed up again, and I thought

we weren't meant to stay like that,

for it was a blissful moment meant

to burn my heart and scratch my head.

A silent whisper seeped in,

with another long Spanish summer of memories

through the curves of your lips.

Dead-crossing darkness hovering over your eyes;

I fell harder into the abyss.

Little did I realize,

it was another whistling train to end a lonely evening.

That Sunday afternoon, when the green giggles fell—

I laid on my couch and read aloud a poem.

It said that love

was insanely blasphemous;

A sin when we would lie dead, never to rise again;

our closeness, how wildly untouched in the haze of summer.

My heart had died that day; I wished you could fire it again.

Instead, you erased my sketch

and started another day just like that.

I wondered where our days would reach,

if I hadn't let you go like that.

I wished we had another conversation over a cup of chamomile tea;

A burning-red love and rotten murder.

Your face glowed like an azure reverie

in my dreams as silence turned off the ringtone.

Someone called at my back door, but I was asleep.

I could scent your lavender perfume,

but I was gone — far away in margarita-scented dreams.

It's too quiet to listen to violent storms outside.

The sun's decaying into auric red emptiness.

It's time to return to my city — where no one listens to rumbling sea waves.