Fresh air hitting newborn lungs lodged in a memory made of mealworms.
Chalking dirt between serrated incisors.
The day I asked a new girl to be my girlfriend you left a note at my house signed "love," telling me you were infinitely sorry.
Some things just don't have an explanation.
There is a knife in my throat chalking chords between scratched teeth, words ground down to chunks of flesh, they never last, taste like the last of something we had.
When I kissed your face in my bedroom there was no golden crust of light you gave me head and I didn't ***, over the next year I fell in love it tasted like blood in my mouth there is a knife in my throat, you placed it delicately as if you'd be back to pull it out with hands still warm from spreading another's pulse and stroking down the center with one finger.
I said all the words I knew hoping you'd hear some you liked, I made a collage of spittle and stringy voice box from my insides you didn't come back so your note is noted but there is no "us" curled up in grand central station, no eyes glowing, and there is nothing left to say, but
it hurt in a way I was not ready to know and came from a direction I had never believed in.
Thanks for the golden days, most of them were, i'm sorry I crumpled so easily I don't think i'll ever be the same, that's a good thing but you had to know you had to know what I didn't and someday you'll grow up, it'll hurt, it's worth it.