it feels like a cruelly sick sense of humor, a twisted joke and i’m the punchline. how does one explain the irony, the contradiction of running from you yet chasing after you all at once? i’m chasing down your memory and the what ifs like malt liquor, it burns my throat and i mistake it for your hands only for the taste to settle in and i push ******* down my throat because i need to purge you out but i should have known its not like that, you arent food, but i’ll try anyways because your residue is haunting me but i can’t help but keep visiting your grave.

don’t say you love me, not when i have the flesh pieces of my own heart stuck between my teeth after you shoved it back into me. when will i learn that i cannot force someone to let me love them? when will i learn that just because i feel the chest-caving need to save someone, doesn’t mean i should?

too much history.

i remember you claimed you wouldn’t be able to come back, to show your face due to the fact that everything reeked of us. i was a permanent tattoo on your frontal lobe — the itch you cannot stop scratching, and the ghost you keep trying to put to bed so you don’t have to admit you have blood on your hands that doesn’t belong to you.

you claimed everything was too much, too spine shattering. my backbone had always been a phantom, how can you shatter me when there is nothing left to shatter? some questions don’t make sense, you never made sense, and i question now if you ever even did. i can go on about how you’d dilute my blood with saltwater while i got intoxicated by your fermented words but i’d rather devour my own heart again before my thoughts even graze you again.

you claim there’s too much history
why are you trying to repeat it?

misery is a chronic pain residing my skull, afraid of the monster pounding in the cavity of my chest. it feels like the sky crashing down on my frail body because atlas refused to hold it anymore. misery is all i am, i want to tell you but you're not picking up the phone.

maybe it was foolish of me,
maybe i’m just too naive. but the way you held onto me both in a way you were scared i’d dismantle on you but enough to bruise, you were so gentle yet i still found your claw marks painting my skin that i worked so hard to heal before you.

i spent my nights questioning my own reality, wondering if you were the monster in my closet or the ghost under my bed. neither were safe, nor were they supposed to be something to romanticize but i preferred you being a ghost because at least then i wouldnt have to feel your touch.

and i used to think that was wrong of me. i was ****** up. because why on earth would i not want to embrace and melt into my lover’s touch? his arms that he vowed to have protect me?

vows. all that you constantly went back on and i sit here now wondering if you ever meant any of them. if you ever meant anything.

because i was naive,
i was foolish.

i had carved a place in my heart incase you wanted to come back but i should have known better.

a love like yours is only meant to destroy.

and i’m sorry but i cannot get over what happened this time. i cannot get over the blood shed and the tears that echoed off every wall in the room, my cries for you to stay while you kept shoving me out. i cannot get over the ache in my chest when you went back on everything we swore, because darling, real love does not go away like that and i question now if you even know what love is.

they say misery loves company and you made your stay longer than needed, overstaying your own welcome. and i’m not sure if you noticed, maybe you did… but when the time came to pack up your things you forgot to take your misery with you.