something about
the way you held me so loosely
like a hesitant father holds his abortion wished baby
arms dangling lifelessly around my inflating ribcage
{that little bright balloon i harbored so safely.}

yes,
i nestled it close to your unsheathed knife
waiting for the burst, an exclamation, a curse.

but that sound, it never rang out-
it bellyflop, backfired and hush hush hushed its way out of an entity.

something about you-
makes me want to-
litter i love you's like
lipstick stained cigarette butts
from the thrift store wardrobe to the over gesturing hands
you unraveled me like it was all a part of the plan.

i watch you through intermittent exhales and yearning eyes
nervously fumbling fingers through greasy hair.
placing my fingertip as gently as i can
on the single, strange spiral of ****** hair on your jaw
staring out at you across rippling sheets,
"this reminds me of starry night."
you nodded, said you knew-
but what could you possibly know about a masterpiece,
when you won't even bother to pick up your brush?

something about-
taking your contacts out,
our inability to communicate,
how you only come over after a few drinks
and never before sundown.
asking politely to kiss me, when your intentions blatantly
ask otherwise. and how thoughtlessly-
you walk through a room,
the vanishing unannounced cigarette act,
how quickly you use laughing to express, (or repress) yourself.

something about the anonymous demeanor of the stray hairs
you shed unintentionally in my bed.
feigning disgust, i flicked at them hard and carelessly when you were watching-
but when you're not. and it's late.
i pluck them slowly and sweetly and let them drift gracefully to the floor beneath.

forcing symbolism into everything
will very effortlessly destroy you.