my mouth was still stained red from the pomegranate seeds i ate from the palm of you hand when i checked your instagram feed. i had been lost in your underworld for three whole days before the weight of your sorrow found its way into my stomach and to the marrow of my bones. like some fish wiggling along the sides of a tank i ate your emotional refuse and felt myself becoming heavier and heavier while you lifted to the clouds and found this beauty among them. i still sat in the bottom of the pond bloated and envying the sky above me. you are still swimming in my blood like a nasty parasite and i feel like ripping out my stomach to pour the weight of you out but you seem so happy that i want to pretend that your sadness never existed and that i am a stranger merely browsing through photos. but the fact remains that i am still here. on my bed writing angrily about you like i have written about dozens before you and for some reason something hasn't changed.