i'm constantly reminded
of the love i tried to coax
from a blade.

it reminded me
that i was real.

that no matter how empty
i felt,
i could still feel something.

i got more love from a razor blade
from broken glass
shattered cds
(anything sharp as his wits)

than i ever got from him

and yet somehow,
i'm still clean?

maybe because both of the loves
weren't real.
no matter how alive
they made me feel.