I wanted to write a poem about something seemingly simple like love, but then I remembered all those times I lost myself on the winding stairs of your eyes; how I would so eagerly climb the steps of your retinas and get lost in the hues and you didn’t feel anything as I shattered every glass landing but sometimes I feel the phantom drip of blood on my feet when I trip over my own tongue.
I remember my heart felt like it was ticking counterclockwise and how my stomach was shredding itself, taking the ribboned pieces and hanging them from my ribcage so that they fluttered when my lungs expanded on that last exhale.
I’d like to think that the click and bob Of your throat was remorse.