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 May 2014 Mary Kelley
The diagnosis is love but it feels more like dying.
You’re under my skin now. I should’ve kept my distance,
but you were an exploding star and I’ve always had
a soft spot for hopeless things.

You, the smoke filling my lungs and the shrapnel
embedded between bones and blood vessels.
You took my body over like a cancer. A silent killer.
First the eyes, when I saw the black hole in you that
wanted to swallow my light.

Then my brain. You infected every neuron with this thing
called hope, like maybe I could love you. Like we could fill each
other and stop feeling so empty. By the time it spread to my
heart, my body felt ready for the morgue.

I’m killing myself with loving you. And I know it sounds crazy,
but pretty much anything can make sense if you love
someone enough. There is a lesson here. Now I know why
they tell you not to look down from tall heights.

Falling to your death must seem so romantic from a
rooftop right under the stars. We don’t build skyscrapers
to get close to God, we build them to remind us that the
only difference between living and dying is gravity.

Does it make sense to say that life is a burning building
and we’re all trying to find the fastest way out? Racing to throw
ourselves out of windows and forgetting to grow wings
for the way down.

I have a sixth sense about these things.
You tasted like disaster the first time we kissed, a little bit
like a dangerous tragedy. But I didn’t think you’d be the death of me.
I couldn’t get you out of my system if I tried, but I’m not trying.

Virus of the heart. You are rusting in my bloodstream,
inventing sicknesses my body does not understand
how to fight. There are worse things, I suppose,
to die for than love.
 Mar 2014 Mary Kelley
 Mar 2014 Mary Kelley
for myself it seems as though
as the days increase in number
my love for them decreases so

 Feb 2014 Mary Kelley
I loved you so hard I would wake with bruises and bandages

My dreams turned into nightmares that started with beauty
and ended in blood

I put my hands on you and they came away burnt

You are a fire

And open pyre and my touch was the kerosene

— The End —