it's strange to write about myself as an entity
i have always thought of myself in terms of other people
the gap between them
a body of negative space.

i slipped so comfortably
into your world. god, i
would have let you drown
me if you had needed
my breath for yourself.

those days, i would've followed you off a cliff
these days, i'd call 911 --
because i know, now,
that love isn't wanting someone
so much that you'd die for them
but wanting what's best for them
and knowing
that isn't always you.

i had hoped that by this time i
would not be scared of you or
the way cups look nestled in
your hands or the rumbling
down deep when you flash
me that grin, but i feel like i
am sinking
      sinking
      stuck to someone else's
fingertips, even after all this
time. i thought that i would
be able to give you more but
there is nothing left in me for
anyone else. i have scraped
down to raw tissue and tendons,
and i'm sure that if you opened
me up you would see the scratch
marks from where i have been
trying to find even flakes to
give to you. i'm so sorry that by
the time you came along all the
parts of me worth having were
gone.

god is dead and i'm still breathing.
you lied and i stole.
the world was not what i imagined. you painted pictures and i fell for everything.
young, wide-eyed, afraid,
you preached about green eyes and love that wasn't
yours to give, but you
gave it anyway.

the same songs still ring in my ears.

once whole, you split me into
something i cannot recognize.