You haven’t spoken to me in a couple days.
Probably only three, maybe as many as a hundred.
The number doesn’t really matter.
Nothing does,
Because you haven’t spoken to me in a couple days,
And even though every hour that passes
Sends another wave of battery acid-like grief coursing down my whimpering throat,
I can’t feel it without feeling you.
I can’t feel the burning in my chest,
Or the stretching beast in my stomach,
Begging me to eat something,
Anything.
All I feel is sorry.
And sorry will never be enough.
Sorry erases the past like writing poems erases feelings.
It just makes everything more real.
It makes every touch I gave to a man that wasn’t you,
Every bed I slept in that wasn’t yours,
Every heart I played with while you waited to play mine
So much more real.
I could crawl out of this skin,
Burn it and watch the smoke write my regrets
One
Two
Three thousand times around the treetops,
And it still wouldn't be enough.
I wish it would
I wish it would
I wish it would, it could,
It should but it can’t and I can’t stop clawing at my throat
Trying to pull out the words that will make you forgive me
And they're not even there.
You’re right to not have spoken to me.
What is there to say to the girl who danced in deceptions
And then pinned your heart to her sleeve
Over and over,
As though she even deserved to wear it in the first place.
How could you have known she’d been leaving it in the top drawer of the bedside table
Each time she stepped out at night,
Only to curl up and kiss it and cry each time she found herself back in her sheets.
If I said I loved you would you even believe me?
Would you even hear it?
Or would it shatter around you like every promise I made,
Like every idea of the future we’d spent so much time crafting,
I wish we could have that future,
But I can’t see it anymore,
And I don’t know if you’d open your eyes long enough to try.