"do i ever even cross your mind?"

"you've never left."

these thoughts you're having
they aren't actually real
i'm lying on the couch in my therapist's office
she didn't notice i nodded off
how does that make you feel?
you have to be ******* kidding me
she isn't kidding
i sit up on the couch
i didn't think people actually asked that
asked you "how you feel" about everything
she stares in silence
what do you want me to say?
she pursed her lips in preparation to speak
i cut her off
you know how i ******* feel?
i feel ******
i'm pretty messed up over all of this
i hate it
i hate that even the way
she ******* looks at me
brings me to my knees
i take a breath
i'm sorry
i'm sorry i'm so angry all the time
you shouldn't apologize for how you feel
but i can't stop apologizing
somedays i wake up &
i feel my heart beating slower
my heart is so heavy with guilt
over something i know i couldn't control
& all i can think about is
how ******* sorry i am
i hang my head down
i can't even look at my feet anymore
because i hate where they are
i hate that they're not next to hers
i pause
do you know what it's like
missing someone so much
that you can't catch your breath
when you think of them?
she doesn't answer
i guess it doesn't matter because
that isn't even close
to how much i miss her
what do you miss about her?

the average human
describes their heartbeat
as a thud-thud or a few
rough pats to the chest.

i fall asleep with my ear
pressed up against your
chest. all i can hear is the
echo of a captain yelling,
"let me sink...let me sink..."
i ask you how you would
describe your heartbeat,
you point to the ship
in the bottle mounted on
your father's bookshelf
& faintly say
"the glass bottle keeps the
ship from sinking, completely
blocking out the captain's wish
to learn how to breathe
underwater because air just
isn't doing its job with keeping
him alive."

your break up letter to me
went a little something like;

"you were built in the fire,
stop acting like you burn in it.
you were never made to be fragile,
you were never made to be my glass."

my plead for you to stay
went a little something like;

(20) Missed Calls

your final goodbye
went a little something like;

a thud thud to the pavement.

& my final goodbye was
cracking open a bottle on your
headstone & standing in the sea
with the water rising up to
my knees, with a small ship in
the palm of my hand, a dunk
underneath the tide & a faint
whisper, *"breathe."

he stands tall,
you get on your knees
& he shoves his gun barrel
between your lips,
he presses it to the
back of your throat &
asks you to look him
in the eyes, says not to
flinch when he pulls
the trigger or even try
to think of a last word
that doesn't end with
the final syllable of his
name. the fingers on his
left hand slide from the
front of your throat to
the back all in one gentle
motion, like this has
happened before. this
is a normal friday night,
this is the place where
all girls who **** like
they're trying to turn
modern architecture into
ruins go to die.

so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"

The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"

sometimes you're like homework
so confusing
and i just stare at you
absent-mindedly
hating you
yet you're important to me
it's so hard to finish you
and i lose inspiration every now and then
but when i get high as my grades
i come running back to you

i can't wait to graduate from school
get rid of this infatuation
we would be adults by then
and hopefully this mess will be sorted out

(inspired by cute crazy's "unfair")*

I
  loved
    you
      for
        who
          you­
            are...

and
  you
    threw
      me
        away
  ­        for
            who
                
                  *I­  wasn't