The sinkhole of my mouth,
the tragic words I whisper
when his eyes close for the night.
I never tell him I feel like lost tupperware
hidden somewhere on the top shelf,
in the very back.
When the connection feels lost and
somewhere along the lines
he could no longer feel me,
it’s heartbreaking to say my fingertips
still remember the skin of his back
when he lied down facing away from me.
He said I stopped looking at him
the same, but his image is still burned
into the back of my head,
and I will think of him every night
he no longer sleeps beside me,
and I will feel the lack of his presence
every time the bed doesn’t dip
from his weight. He said he no longer
knew if I loved him.
I will carry the weight of my failure,
of the love I never learned to express,
and the burden of my closed lips.
I wonder if he can feel me shiver in the middle
of the night when I’m lost in dreams you made into nightmares.
I wonder if he notices the way I trace
the ink on my skin and picture a hand of the past.
If I could I would make so many promises,
but I don’t trust myself to keep them.
My tongue has turned into ivy and they
wrap around words too soft for me to bear.
My skin has added a few layers from the cold
you left me with and I forget how soft
I used to be. That’s the thing, though.
You’ve taken who I used to be,
and twisted it.
His hands trace every scar I’m laced with,
kisses each dent and jagged edge as though
he could somehow fix my broken bits.
The worst part is, though,
I let him.
You made me catch my breath the minute you made the world stop turning.
It could’ve been the way the wind was blowing, or maybe the suns position, or the moons.
Or it could’ve been your eyes, your smile, the way your hands were easily
slipped into your pockets.
I was made into glass the moment your hands touched my skin,
and I was terrified of breaking. Your lips told me you knew how I was fragile,
you knew how I was something different whenever you were there.
Still the way you smiled at me and the feelings structured in your face
made me think maybe I was made out of something more –
something stronger. I felt malleable when your breath ghosted over me.
I was left in shards when your clothes left our closet. I was made into dust
when your shoes were no longer by the door.
I was made a shell the moment your took your love from my hands
like it was never mine to begin with.
There are more than just cracks in my foundation, and some days
I could swear an atomic bomb went off in my bones. I’m reeling,
spinning, falling and crashing, down somewhere I didn’t know even existed.
Some days the sky feels like it’s falling and the warmest thing around me
is the dirt under our dead grass. Yet the worst sin in my blood, the one thing
I could never stop, is the love I could never hate you with. The love I could never let die.
Sometimes when she crawls into bed next to him, she’ll still pretend it’s you. His shallow breaths, the heat from his body – all of it.
Her head will rest in between his shoulder blades and remember what you felt like.
She knows this isn’t right, and he deserves so much more. She knows her insides are green and only getting darker each time she whispers your name instead of his in the middle of the night.
She hopes one of the times your name gets called out, he’ll notice. One of the times your name gets called out, she hopes he’ll leave her for it. Her weakness swims in her belly and eats her from the inside; she calls it Selfishness.
Sometimes she wishes she could scream it all out. Every single sin she feels, every single dishonesty she commits, every time her eyes close and all she sees is you. Sometimes she wishes she could scream all of that away.
But her throat dries up and her tongue swells. So she hides it behind her smile and averted eyes. And she shows it, just for a moment, in every whisper that echoes in the darkness.
Somehow, he never hears her.
So she still pretends it’s you.
I saw you with her and I wonder, could you feel my heart breaking? Could you hear it shatter on the floor? Could you smell the smoke from the fires destroying everything?
I kept my mouth shut and avoided your eye when we exchanged polite smiles. I know I have no excuse for jealousy, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still there. I just hope my skin isn’t as green as I feel.
Do you feel my mouth when you kiss her? No, I don’t really want to know. Please, don’t tell me.
All I know is that I still feel yours when my eyes close and then your arms are around me, hands in my hair. I feel your heartbeat against mine and your warmth against my skin.
I still feel you.
I (almost) wish you still felt me.
In the midst of this shit I find myself looking back at you like a bottle of cheap liquor while my good drugs are gone.
You’d be unsatisfying and I know how much better it could be but maybe it might lessen this shit at least a little bit. But what’s a little bit when it still wouldn’t be really any better?
So that bottle stays on the shelf while I daydream about the wild ride I was on and how I want that sweet insanity again, and again, and again.
I press my tongue between my lips and shut my eyes long enough to remember how sweet it tasted. To feel it slide down my throat and burst in my stomach and focus on breathing because your heart just goes fucking wild on it.
I’m always a little on edge and just simply not quite right without and months and months and I wonder when it will end.
I’m sick of the withdrawal.
Sometimes this loneliness that holes up in my bones
feels as familiar as the marrow in them
and it gets harder to remember there was a time
without it stretching from my toes
to the top of my skull
My voice has gotten softer from lack of use
and I don’t feel like using it to get my thoughts across
because your opinions were the only ones I wanted to hear
and I guess that has yet to really change
I’ve tried replacing your body
but I guess it hasn’t worked because I still can’t sleep,
the lack of your presence makes everything a little harder –
and things had never been easy for me