I know you left and that was your choice
but may I just ask, do you still hear my voice?
When you read all my poems through
is it my voice reading them to you?
Are my words in your head
or to you are my words dead?

Can't you tell that my mind is just messier and messier with thoughts of you? And I crave the blade and I crave the smoke but most of all I crave your touch. I fear you crave her touch again. I fear you the recklessness she poured into you. I fear I'll lose you to her. I've already lost myself to these thoughts.

I keep digging and digging and digging,
     trying to dig myself out of this hole
But it seems everything is collapsing around me
      burying me with my soul.
      This small shovel
  just doesn't seem to be enough,
     No one thought to tell me
         how life could be this rough
Now,
    I'm just getting deeper and deeper
        and deeper
    with my unwanted thoughts
This shall be my grave,
        but don't put any roses on top,
      I prefer **forget-me-nots

I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.

There is a lot of
Meaning in the four small words
"I didn't sleep well"

He was:

Mascara and hairspray and whitening tooth paste that made my mouth feel slimy.

You are:

Understanding and appreciative and you don't notice anything but my eyes and the way they are unapologetic when they display my emotions for you to see.