i swallowed the sunset like a pill;
and drowned it with a bottle of nyquil;
so my dreams involve stars instead of your hands;
and my brain contains gradients in place of your arms.
i clawed my own eyeballs out, mistaking them for yours;
and what i thought was your skeleton i rammed with my car;
was actually just a mailbox.
i’ve screamed at the top of my lungs;
but you are still jammed in my throat.
i’ve opened up my skin;
but your poison is stuck to me like a sunburn.

*(a.m.c.)

i sold your love to a man in a white coat;
and i used the money to buy red lipstick, Kate Moss No. 113;
so now when i wear it i can remember the time I ripped out your heart and ate it whole;
because my man eating zombie heart cannot contain you;
and my man eating zombie mind cannot contain you;
i was tired of being a fugitive in your arms;
the closest we will ever be is 50 ft because of the restraining order i put on you last thursday afternoon;
50 ft is the distance of the stars to the moon;
50 ft is not far enough;
i was tired of feeling your love wrapped around my neck;
my lips turned blue from your suffocation;
you’re not going to die because i am no longer able to staple my hands to yours;
and you’re not going to die because your ears won’t hear my voice anymore;
because life is more than your false identification with love;
life is about breathing;
and you’re still breathing.

*(a.m.c.)