I wanted to write you a poem
I really did
Tried real hard to come up with some words
They didn't even have to be poetic or eloquent or whatever
Just had to be something.
Some sort of proof that anything happened at all.
Do you remember? Do you remember anything at all?
Xanax works in mysterious ways.
Like how our bodies fit into each other and how
we both have these ugly scars and how
you cried in my arms and I knew that I
couldn't say anything to make you feel any better because
I knew what you were going through
at least to an extent
I know enough about sad chemistry to know that words don't do much
but then again
I guess I didn't know about that other guy you're *******
until you told me  he saw your scars and called you a freak
and that was fine because I was still holding you
but then you tell me
you're still not over him
and even that is sad but fine.
I'm not here to judge
I'm not here to make things worse.
I'm not even here at all.
Because this isn't even a poem
And you aren't really a friend
And you can't love what you can't remember:

your lips on my cuts
me holding you tight
and how close it all felt
like how for a brief second it was all terrible and beautiful and
somehow okay all at once
but maybe you don't remember any of it.
And all that's fine
too
because
this isn't even a poem.
It doesn't even have
a proper
ending.