everything is on the table now

matches. kerosene. pen.
paper.

I wrote to you. I swear,
I did.

I wrote your name over
and over until my wrists
ached.

couldn't ever get much
further than that.

you know something, though?
I can't even remember your face.

I remember the scars on your arms
and the freckles on your belly.

I can hear your laugh, I can feel
your skin beneath my palms.

but I can't remember your face.
and it all feels so meaningless now.

because I wrote you that poem once,
and I know you never read it.
the one where I loved you more with
each passing night and I was so afraid
you weren't even missing me at all

and it's all so different now. so much better,
and so much uglier.

I can't lie, because you're right. because
you know me better than anyone.
and it's a god awful feeling to be tired
of someone you love. to not remember
the lines of their face, or the light
in their eyes.

I owe you more than that. I deserve
better than this.

and the ****** up thing about all this babe
is I still haven't written you that letter.
I still don't have any answers.

because I'm empty and angry and
you're lost and lonely and we're miles
apart. might as well be universes.

and I have this fantasy where everything
happened so much better, it happened
right and we were better people and
god it's so beautiful but it's just a *******
fantasy.

because it's four in the morning and
that **** table is on fire
and I'm here typing away at some stupid
poem you're never going to read and
you're waiting for my response to your
gut-wrenching messages.

and I don't understand how we got
here. I don't understand how love
has to ******* up so badly, how
loving someone so much can
never be enough. how you can weather
storm after storm and disaster
after disaster together and still be left
with empty hands and broken hearts.