someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
*"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand*"
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 11:17 AM UTC
Crimpson tear stains drip againts the bathroom wall.
My heart stops beating.
slowly and then all at once.
I feel the trigger. I smell the laundry detergent that you used on your clothes
I still remember the smell.
The carvings will always remain but our feelings wont.
Not again i am sick and tired of thinking of you.
Its been three months now and the memories still ricochett in my mind.
I hate you.
I wish I never loved you.
Or is it just my mind?
My mind is playing tricks on me again.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC