I think sometimes I miss you.
Rarely, on occasion, because
It’s hard to admit,
But once in a while I miss you a little bit of a whole lot.
When I hear your name in conversation it’s easy to brush off
But harder to bury when I’m alone.
Sometimes I’m prepared to miss you.
But I can’t.
For some reason the timing’s not right,
I can’t will myself to cry,
So I choke it down and switch to internal bleeding for a while.
When I’m ready, I miss you.
When I’m not, I miss missing you.
pity drips like warm syrup
sweet to sender,
onto unwelcoming pancakes
flat, absorbing all they can
always leaving extra around
(they can’t possibly hold all there is to offer.)
An unsettling ending. At least to me. But I think I like it that way. There’s nothing else to say. And pity is unsettling in the same way.
"It's harmless water vapor"; sure.
"It won't happen to me"; you know that's a ******* lie.
"I don't do it often"; we'll see how long that lasts.
I can't wait until the feeling of clouds of water vapor pouring over your lips makes you happier than I can.
selfless until I want you to be
always thinking of me
until you realize you can be selfish by slowly killing yourself
"nicotine is nicotine is nicotine" :
words from my own mother
holding me to a standard she won't follow.
forcing myself through
poetry as my glue
holding onto you
but you’re in my way.
did you ever believe me?
when I told you I cared?
did you ever realize?
how much I was scared?
of losing you, of never having you
did you ever love me?
in the way I loved you?
did you ever mean it?
when you said “of course I do”?
think I lost you— or never even had you
did you ever care?
or were you too selfish?
were you ever scared?
or even jealous?
you knew you’d never lose me; you always had me.
It’ll get worse before
It gets worse