wake up at six 6am.
grab my phone.
check my feed.

you are always
there.
first post.
always wearing
your beautiful
smile.

maybe the algorithm
realized how
i stare at our photos,
some nights
before sleeping.

maybe he
makes the sum
of our unsaid words
and multiplies it
by those nights
i fell asleep in
your chest.

maybe he
never heard
our fights.
the shouting,
the crying.
or maybe he did
but just choose
to keep them
out of the equation.

maybe he
knows
you are still
the first person
i think of
when i wake.

i scratch my eyes
and keep scrolling.

We are not just order in the disorder;
We are order fighting
for not being
disorder.

Order breathing.
order eating order.
order fighting
ord er cryi n g
o rde r la ugh in g
   or de r  l o v i n g
  
  o r der  di str ess e     d  
b  yt h e  f a c  t
a l    l
o  rd e   r
e ven   t  ual    ly
be co m                         es
di           s  or        d  er

Hell is this house.

Your phone calls
dropping at 4 am
like bomb blasts.

Your perfume,
like a refugee,
living between
my messy
bed sheets.

Your stuff,
strategically forgotten,
in every **** corner.

Each room a minefield.
Each drawer a thread.

I finally finish packing up the last boxes.
Load them in my car.
Close the front door.
Turn the engine on.
Leave.
See you waving from the rear-view mirror.

Some last spams
from those muscles
I haven't used in a while,
makes me feel alive.

My heart,
naive,
believes it can still love
like it used to.
It is just that ****
muscle memory.

Your words hit me.
Hurt me.
But no longer
pierce me.
Short range
now they are.

My denatured  enzymes,
possessed by salt,
just want to drown.

Anything that stops
the aftershocks in my body
that follow the earthquake
our love once was.

He was standing on the edge.
The stars, all of them,
shouted at him
but in a frequency
he was unable to listen.

Bellow him,
the tempting emptiness,
the absence of everything,
good and bad.

It was hard to resist
taking that path.
So fast. A shortcut.

He never knew how to wait.
- There is no shortcut to
anyplace worth going-
remember her mother saying,
but he never understood those words.

His little planet
was becoming extinct.
Trees were dying
on their knees.

He raise one of her feet
and put it over the emptiness;
when his phone started ringing.

A friend texted him.
He was coming over in five.
The phone in his hand became
a thin taut gold thread
that guide him back inside.

My head
lays down over
the strong dynasty
your chest is.

I listen your heart,
arrhythmic,
reciting far away verses about
some kings without castles
nor titles.

Recklessly,
I fall asleep
inside the shelter
of your peaceful kingdom.

Your firmament applies me
a force, equal and opposite,
to the weight of my head,
full of semi precious stones
and keeps me
from falling.