There are stories choking my heart.

Her story begins with

acid wash jeans

and closed fist beatings,

midnight screams

and vague notions of nothings.

His story is full of

healing scars

and tattooed feelings,

ancient poems

and feeling alone.

She's all about looking good-

high-end fashion

and men with passion,

attention to detail

and half-price retail.

He's in love with drugs-

cheap thrills

and easy girls,

fast highs

whatever the price.

I'm in love with them,

her bright blue eyes

and "Love" tattooed across his wrist.

Her determined gait,

and the way his fingers jitter.

I'm in love with them,

but she's and empty shell,

and he's forgotten how to love;

she just wants lust

and he can never sit still.

I'm in love with them,

but they don't love me.

I'm in love with them,

and their stories choke me.