I deleted your picture off my camera the other day
I felt like I didn't deserve to have it, anymore.
You were smiling at me,
the way that you smile when you,
(how impossible)
are in love with me.

Well,
you're not in love with me anymore.
So that smile felt cheap.
Undeserved on my camera.

The ghost of the smile I murdered
kept convincing me, just for an instant,
that smile was still alive.
Just long enough to bring me just high enough
that by the time I realized what happened I had
already crashed back into my body,
chilled to the bone and drenched in guilt.

I used to write you a poem every day.
Now I'm holding seances with memories of our love,
trying to communicate through subtexts and
wailing to the sky.
I'm calling forth the soul of the murdered,
please take your revenge,
avenge your own death and rip out
any stitches of good faith I've tried to repair myself with,
string a rope around my neck,
toss me and watch me writhe in the unexpected
depth of what we had, once filled with meaning
and love
just like your smile.
but now, just like your smile, empty.
And I will hang for my betrayal.