It’s hard when I feel like
I want to rip out my own throat, let
The blood gush and mix
With the salt.
When my mind cracks and I sob,
Or when I am filled with
A rush of anger, fury, fiery bitterness
At you and this and every fucking thing.
It’s hard when I sleep in the bed
Where you slept. When I lie on the sofa,
‘Red Couch’ where we once lay:
That other girl and you, together.
(the hardest word is never)
It’s hard when I look around at my life
And wonder at what I am now.
Skimming the surface,
Treading this swampy water.
Always tired,
Though I never drown.
And it’s hard when I feel nothing.
When I cannot remember your touch,
When memories
Are just a film I watch.
(I think we died in that fucking airport eight months ago.)
Because after near two years of something so damn real,
When it is over,
I cannot feel.