Don’t forget to tell me good-bye when the time’s right. Don’t forget to hold the door open and watch me leave. Don’t forget to keep that smile on your face and, please, don’t forget to dream about me every night after.
When the next one whispers how much they love you when they think you’re sleeping, don’t forget to hold your breath and pray they don’t know you’re awake. Don’t forget to distance yourself and stop answering the phone. Don’t forget what those words sounded like when they came from my lips.
Down the road when you hold the-one in your arms and look at their sleeping face, don’t forget to picture mine. Don’t forget the feeling in your arms as they ache to hold me instead.
When things stop working and they leave you, don’t forget about the way you left me. Don’t forget the sway of my hips, or my tensed jaw.
Don’t forget me.
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.
My skin feels like a lonely place
without your fingers on it
and ghosts run rampant
through my veins
as though I am a haunted house
I don’t know how I got to be
so cold without you
as though you were all the fire
in my blood, in my bones,
in my soul
I remember being whole before
your lips ever touched me,
and you seemed to have taken parts
of me every time your skin grazed mine
The shell of me has frosted over
with time missing you,
and I miss being whole,
and I miss being me without
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.
When I’m lost in thoughts of you, I wonder if I’m anywhere in your head, too.
Do you remember my lips when your eyes have barely shut at the end of the day? Or my hands outlining the ink on your skin?
There are instances that flash in my head, like a movie I’ve only seen once, and I’m stuck knowing these parts of you that linger in my mind are shared with someone else. Your crinkled eyes from that wide smile is stuck in my head, and I know it won’t be for me again.
All I can wonder is if any of me stuck somewhere with you, too.
Sometimes, you still enter my dreams through a backdoor.
I could swear we’re done, and I’m over it, over you.
But you’re still there and I still have to feel it.
Over and over like constant prods with a needle, but with enough time and effort, and just one good push;
you’re there. And I’m bleeding.
My heart isn’t the only thing that’s red.