I’m struggling to
remember the
exact shape of
your lips.

If I close my eyes for
long enough I can
almost remember what
it feels like to be wrapped in
your arms and I wish I
had tattooed that feeling onto
my brain.

But I do remember listening to
your heartbeat while I laid my
head on your chest and you kept
asking if I was comfortable and what
you didn’t know is that it was
perfect and my eyes slowly closed while
I watched the dancing light on my
eyelids from the moving shapes on the
television, slowly losing consciousness in
your warm bed, just me and you.

I want to
bash your head
into a brick wall
repeatedly
until your blood
paints my fingers
a shade close to
the one the wall wears.