#27.7.18

i.

i feel so dumb

pining fresh and fierce for a love

that is not yet gone,

just fizzling in and out of being

like it doesn’t know where to place it’s feet.

this is not a sharp split

and i have no reason to burn this cold,

as i examine the edge i lean on,

a left over car part

on a broken fucking ferris wheel

dwindling with dead lights off.

maybe this round

i’ll tell you every story

but the laughter still shakes canned,

rattling at the bottom of my empty, gutted torso.

and later i’ll swallow my tongue whole

and bring it up at night-

the walls don’t even flinch when i do that

anymore.

maybe i could tell you that story next time?

or maybe you won’t ask

until i do first

and i’m bored of it.

ii.

i cut the string an age ago

but you haven’t felt it tug yet

still waiting for it to stretch and strain around the world

twice over and back to you,

a scuffed and bloody mess

trailing and messed up so bad, baby

and too thin for you to see

anymore.

iii.

my heart shivers and i despise the knowledge

that it would sprint straight back to you

if i let the bonds loose

and i think you’re the coolest but

what does that make me?

waiting for a single message

like i’d stay up till the light

for a yes

and you’d stay up all night

to forget

about me again.

and it’s fine

until it’s not.

so i print your words onto my skin

and then burn them

right off