My heart began to tick away time
Like fingernails to a table
Running out the clock on our relationship
Running out the excuses in my brain

I became so good at weaving lies,
I kept myself warm even when your arms were far.
When a person freezes to death,
They take off their clothes
in a phenomenon known as paradoxical *******.
Taking off my
lies
excuses
folly that you're good for me
was the hardest part of
learning where we were.
In letting go.
In death.

I asked a six year old
What she thought love was
And her response was
Simple
She told me that
“Love is coloring outside the lines,
Because no matter what,
They will always love
Your drawing”
And her answer was simple but
It kept me awake at night
Because I never showed you the deep
Purples that bruised my thoughts
And the black scribbles that were
Supposed to be organized
But instead went everywhere
And the painful reds
followed by pale pinks
Because I began to believe
That a six year old knew more
About love than
Me

You thought that
You would never make a name for yourself
so you deprived yourself of one
and took your own life

You forgot that
You had already made a name for yourself
but now its deprived of You
So
I branded You upon my skin
With your date of birth and death
Your name has never died
So neither have You

You are the most precious name brand
Anyone could ever witness
And that no one could ever buy

You were the few leaves of Ivy
That over grew onto the building
And I the willing building

You were the small speck of rust that
over took my smallish metal frame
Crippling me from allowing anyone else inside
And I the willing frame

You were the mold
that spread against my walls
infecting me
Causing me to be ‘Closed For Good’
but I allowed the spread
never doing anything to halt
the damaging process

I never had anything to offer you
But you still took everything I had
And after I was completely encased in You
You moved on
To see what other damage You could cause

My life has been painted onto canvas
I am not a painting strewn through
Museum walls
Not yet
Black for the loss
Red for spilt blood
And blue and purple for bruises
Yellow struck up from
The bottom
Childhood memories
Sea foam green
For the waves carrying me onward
Watercolors
Built on messy strokes inside garage walls
And too much caffeine late at night
My purpose has not yet been decided
If I am to be
A landscape or a face
Or maybe an animal
But I am
Beautiful
I don’t hang inside
Museum walls
Not yet
But I am still,
Beautiful
As the painter and
The painting

With You all I felt was
Fire
A burning passion tinted with
Ecstasy and
Desire
A closeness bound by
Scars and shared
Secrets

But

With You all I felt was
Protected
Police tape signed with
Chivalry and
Endearment
A closeness bound by
Texts and tender
Friendships

And now

All I feel is torn
between
aching desire
and passionless safety