#5515

thunderclouds gather round every side of this worn and weary path

and our bloodstained fingers are pulling in the wrong direction from one another

and this just feels so heavy so heavy so

wretched to taste and so sour to smell and yet despite it all

all I wanted to say to her behind gritted teeth and salt-stained eyes is

my god you look beautiful today

even after

I’ve tried to scrub

the saltwater from my hair

and even after

I’ve tried to drown out

the roar of the swells

from my memory

and even after

I’ve tried to plant

new flowers in this soil

but everyone knows

nothing grows

in sand

still smears your sheets at night

if my name is still enough

to fill your mouth with venom

if it helps you sleep at night

for strangers to rip me apart

the way you used to

if the waves

no longer crash for you

if this

will ever end

A year from today would’ve been the

day, in your parent’s gazebo, under a stunning

August sky and I wish I didn’t care

so much to remember. I’m

still trying to forget the fact that I’ve

memorized the gentle line and dip

of your collarbone. It took me three

and a half weeks to realize my apartment

is almost an exact copy of

the first one we had together. I’m still

trying to sweep the dust of