at 4 am I am reading Nabokov,

thinking about the taste of your lips,

the feel of your fingertips

I know that I am alive,

but sometimes I see smoke seep out of my skin,

and I swear you were the arsonist

to the burning building that is my body

I thought that if I stared at a fixed point for long enough

that I could be saved,

but you never made me feel safe

I was in love with you-

you were in love with something else

as I crawled on my hands and knees

trying to find a place to breathe,

to bleed

I don't know what to do with this body

I never could find a fire escape

everything I am collapses

to the sound of you leaving