But get your ******* god
out of my ****** face.

It wasn't a mistake,
pushing you away.
My hands worked for me
As my eyes watched my fingers
Let go.

It wasn't a mistake,
running away.
My mind continued
to use as much force as I could
into my muscles to distance myself from you.

It wasn't a mistake,
the way I felt.
With a heart of broken fiber
And with hands of pressured veins,
I found the will to push you away.

It wasn't a mistake.

i very strongly doubt
that you have felt an ache
in your bones
as gravely as i have
when you walked away
from us.

"misery loves company"*
then why do i feel
so alone?

my words are going to hit you.
so hard,
you forget your first name.
the paintings etched on your skin
will now be our story
and i want your
cigarette-stained fingertips
to burn holes into
my skin -
set me on fire.
my words are going to stay with you
while you're not
holding your breath
on bridges,
tunnels,
elevators,
traintracks...
and while my face would be turning blue,
with lack of oxygen.
my words are
so precisely
and concisely
constructed into sentences,
that are never spoken,
never whispered,
uttered,
or murmured;
but they are written down
for you to read.
so please -
touch my face
tell me you love me
then *set me on fire.

the waves roar,
toes cuddle the sand
and the shoreline invites legs
with licks of salty breaths.
in and out,
the tide sighs
while tiny tourists glide
on sail boats in the distance.
and ice cold coke,
and you.

the sea purrs,
the sun begins to set
along the dusty horizon.
laughter becomes muffled
and the sand now naked,
stripped of umbrellas,
leaving behind
only foot prints.
a half-melted strawberry sundae,
and you.