she is the apology letter stapled
to the bulletin board of
regrets
that I haven't visited
in months
I have been apologizing
to the sidewalk
with fractured palms
too closely resembling the cracks themselves
i am reminded i won’t be able to hold her
she is the hot potato
i refuse to let go off
and my fingertips haven't
stopped burning
they aren’t enough read receipts
to return this jaw clenching
antagonist of
“what did i get myself into”
and I’m still confused as why I still don’t want to get out
I am doing jumping jacks in a gas chamber
i haven’t slept in days
the bags under my eyes
look just like the ones in your hands
the day you left
and I am reminded you forgot
to take me with you.