staring at the ceiling, counting the mosquito bites on my arm
there are sixteen
reasons why you left me but I can only remember the one that went unsaid
"you cannot fix yourself"
there is a constellation of scars on my hips
and I can see your face, hear your biting words in them
if I try hard enough.
maybe it's just a reflection of the moonlight,
or it's just one bad night. one of too many.
am I the insect stuck between screen and glass
trying to escape something shatterproof
when the more effort I put in, the more likely I am to die?
even the mosquitoes have become tired of seeing my blood
it fills the sticky night with a sour-sweet stench
of broken promises and lost lies.
but god,
I am the moth who only wants to get closer to the light.
you were my light.
and I'll leave the windows open all summer
as if maybe you'll crawl back in through them
I've broken the glass in all of them anyway
I've named sunrises after you
they too are supposed to be emblems of hope but only remind me of how broken I am
and it's funny
because I used to wish on every star that you'd understand
but now I just wish to be able to forget you.