I can still feel her
through you.
I hope you know she's in the back of my mind,
shelved on my earlobes.
I cannot let her go.
And I wonder
Are her fingers still wrapped around your ****?
Because no matter how many flowers you give me
She's there in my ribs.
I can't force new growth
with her twisted wrists intertwining my bones.
Locked into her breaths,
I am choking on confusion.
And now you want to say she had feelings too?
She's a good person, too?
****.
You.





Her name is as generic as her type.
I cannot let her go.