I don’t know if you’re dead
But you’re dead to me
Still running the streets
I haven’t heard from you
It’s been three weeks

I pray for you
I used to curse your name
You dragged me through the mud
Playing your games
You lost everything

My greatest pleasure and
My greatest pain
I never thought I’d get hurt like that again
I thought all my dreams came true
But it turned into a nightmare fast

I’ve been grieving you as if you’re dead
The person you used to be is gone
Or maybe he never really existed at all
You could be dead
You don’t answer when I call

You pushed me away
Ashamed of your actions
I’m afraid of your fatal attraction
The streets are your wife
I was just your mistress

Maybe I did let the world tear us apart.
Or maybe you’re just a p.o.s.,
like the world said.
I don’t know.
I don’t believe that I was naive enough
to be fooled by you.
No.
I’ve seen too much.
I saw every time you tried to fool me,
and only out of tact, pretended I didn’t.
All the things I love about you
were not a trick to trap me.
It hurts so much more
if I let myself think,
what if you were for real
and I let the world tear us apart?
My greatest love
and my deepest pain.
I wasn’t scared of what the world
could do to us.
I was scared of what you
could do to me.
What you did do.

You’re strong
and you don’t need me
and that’s fine.

Once you’ve been really loved,
everything else just feels
like a second hand shirt.

Nothing ever compares
and you spend the rest of your life
chasing its shadow.

I take a drag
and everything slows down.
I can hear the crickets singing,
and two owls.
I hear the cars on the highway.
In my mind,
I see your smile.

“I like affection.
It’s never enough.
That’s job security for you.”
“Job security?
Nah, that’s like,
I’m replaceable.”

“No,” I say, serious now.
I don’t say it,
but it hits me,
just how irreplaceable
you’ve become to me.
No matter what happens,
you’ve left a mark
I’ll never forget.
You have a part of my heart
I’ll never get back.

We don’t match on paper
and that’s all you see
because you don’t know 
how trauma moves.
Paper is only two dimensional.
It has no depth,
and that’s where we’ve been -
to a place you’ve never dared to look.

We have traveled through the underworld,
stared pain in the face,
and learned how to bear it.
We’ve flirted with madness,
laughed in the face of death,
and writhed alone in the darkness.

You see us together
at a coffee shop
on a Sunday morning
and you stare
with a confused look.

You can’t see past his
crooked teeth,
tattoos,
and muscular arms.
You don’t see his heart,
his soul,
or his mind.

You can’t see past my
straight teeth,
the sparkle in my eye,
or my laugh.  
You don’t see
the imperceptible scars,
the lessons,
or the cracks in my mind.

You assume that what you see
is all there is.
We have more in common
than you could ever guess,
because of what we’ve seen
and what we’ve survived.

I’ve been searching for
what I didn’t get.
As a kid,
would talk to strangers
with no fear.
Teachers couldn’t get me
to stop talking.

No one can get
close enough.
I always want to be closer.
Is that enmeshment
or love?

In high school,
I found people like me.
At 18,
I always had people to call,
so I would never have to be
alone at night.
Maybe it wasn’t
real friendship,
but it was better than nothing.

As a kid,
being alone in the house
felt like death.
Still,
without attention,
I feel like I’m dying.
If I don’t get love
when I need it,
I must be unlovable.
What’s the point of living
without love?

Lack of love
is the slowest way to die.

I’ve been trading my love for attention
and because I’ve been treating this like a transaction
maybe it’s not really love I’m giving.
Attention is still my drug of choice
and I need it
to fill this empty pit in my soul
called Neglect.
There is never enough to fill it,
never enough to soothe my nerves,
never enough to convince me
you really love me.