the first six months after you was probably the worst time of my life
not just because i was trying to remember how to taste like anything besides you
that was the same time my mother died while i was busy pushing needles into veins and spitting blood from my lips
we ****** in your car anywhere that would make me feel alive
but your bed never felt like home to me
i lied when i said i don"t write about you anymore
but lying belt better than admitting i can feel the way you're missing from my bones
i'm hollow and that's not the same as empty
all my lining's made of your fingerprints
which means i'll always taste like you no matter how many times i rinse my chest out with *****
try to drown the bits of you left growing between my ribs

this last six months
i've seen you three times
twice was behind a double pane glass window
we talked about getting married and running away together
tonight i thought about calling you at least six times
when's the last time you saw me six months sober 180 pounds clean wrists and a smile
never
and how much of this do i owe to you
for leaving me and only coming to remind me what i'm missing
i can feel your fist in my throat begging me not to let small words escape

goodbye i love you and i love the way you taste like cherries
like trying to convince me there's anything sweet about you