There once was a boy
who told me they must have cried when I left home,
"I bet the entire state cried for you."
He'd said.
"because a girl like you must be once in a lifetime,"
and he'd keep me around if it killed him..
he'd promised.
"After all, girl.
he'd said
I'm a snake charmer.."
And at that, he had rolled up his sleeve,
to reveal the grayscale serpent baring it's fangs,
wrapped around his forearm.
He made that joke a lot.
Over he course of falling for me.
"Don't forget, babe.."
"I'll break a girl like you eventually.."
And I'd laughed and wish him the best of luck,
after all,
that's the polite thing to do,
in scenarios like these.
He would go on to tell me,
that he knew what to do
with a "body like mine."
He would make them wish they had never let me leave.
Whatever the ****,
he'd thought that meant.
And I let him believe that,
until the day that he didn’t.
Because really,
from the beginning,
we both knew no one was crying over me.

I had never noticed that bar before,
the one hidden amongst the neon signs.
I'm sure I'd driven by a hundred times
over the course of nights
I spent stumbling down those streets..
I'm sure I'd even looked at it once or twice,
unable to make out the name
or the sign on the door..
Just passed that alleyway
in the pursuit of other things.
So when I met you there,
I was apprehensive,
hands shaking,
heart pounding,
in anticipation of what you would want me to be.
Anxious of who you would think I was,
after a "couple of drinks"
on a Friday afternoon..
And my hair was a mess,
in a faded Biggie shirt,
and a pair of converse I'd worn since the tenth grade,
but could never seem to throw away
because they had meant something then,
so they must mean something now..
Because I'd worn the soles out
sneaking back into my parents’ house,
after my virginity was stolen,
tripped over the laces the morning my father had held my hand,
as he walked me into rehab and told me to be brave..
And the first time I was brave enough to see that headstone,
when I’d sobbed alone in the pouring rain,
and they filled with water through the holes in the sides.
They had been there.
Every time my heart had shattered,
so no matter what,
Capital Ave couldn't be too bad.

I told everyone
that you were dead.
I accepted their condolences.
Smiled politely,
while my chest hemorrhaged.
Somehow,
that just made sense.

I was doing just fine.
I didn’t miss you.
Not at all.  
Didn’t want to call you.
Or text you.
Or even see that stupid smile...

Then I saw something that made me laugh.  
Drove past a place we had talked about.  
Saw a commercial about a joke you made once.
Heard a song that you had mentioned.
Did something awkward, I’d usually tell you about.
Went to work.
Ran on a treadmill.
Put on those jeans you liked.
Closed my ******* eyes...

And there you were.

What the ****
am I doing.
And why can’t I
quit you?



...why don’t I want to?

Are you thinking about me?
While you’re laying wherever you are
with whoever you’re with,
am I crossing your mind?
In the quietest moments
with bloodshot eyes,
and that sinking feeling,
are you wondering
if I’m thinking about you?

The magnitude
of what is happening here
is something I don’t think either of us
can comprehend.
Somewhere along a line
we set a wheel in motion
that has been spinning uncontrollably
ever since.
I think we’ve fallen
into what Salinger could only describe
as an intimacy
from which
We will never recover.