when you
thought i was
sleeping,
i was pulling
the breath
out of your
lungs.
scaling your
throat, deep
into your core.
the rope strains
and breaks
between your
teeth.
you feel it
and remember
the way god
feels in your
stomach,
the fear of hell,
and of waiting
rooms,
the thought that
someone out there
had, at least once,
thought of
you.
this poem is
for the dreams
you’ll never
realize.
this poem is
for the words
i want to shove
through your ear
and into your
heart.
this is for one
night, a thousand
miles away
from here,
when you
say good night
to a man you
can never love,
force your head
down on your pillow
and remember
that you had been
loved at least
once.
you are
the only
science
i’ll ever
know,
the only
pieces i want
to add and
subtract.
connecting
the arms,
the head,
the ****
the heart,
and breathing
what life i
have left
into you.
i hope you
remember
how that
feels.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
when you
thought i was
sleeping,
i was pulling
the breath
out of your
lungs.
scaling your
throat, deep
into your core.
the rope strains
and breaks
between your
teeth.
you feel it
and remember
the way god
feels in your
stomach,
the fear of hell,
and of waiting
rooms,
the thought that
someone out there
had, at least once,
thought of
you.
this poem is
for the dreams
you’ll never
realize.
this poem is
for the words
i want to shove
through your ear
and into your
heart.
this is for one
night, a thousand
miles away
from here,
when you
say good night
to a man you
can never love,
force your head
down on your pillow
and remember
that you had been
loved at least
once.
you are
the only
science
i’ll ever
know,
the only
pieces i want
to add and
subtract.
connecting
the arms,
the head,
the ****
the heart,
and breathing
what life i
have left
into you.
i hope you
remember
how that
feels.