In this world, I am a gun
and you a letter unsent.
Imagine me on the right
side of the bed saying I love you.
Does it hurt?

In this world, I am a car
and you a gunshot.
All you ever do is leave and darling,
I’m sick of being your runaway car.

In this world, I am a crime-scene
and you have always
treated me like a case to crack.
I am not a film noir; I know you
know how to appreciate a good mystery.

In this world, I am a tectonic plate
and you fog so thick you can’t
see your own hands even when
you hold them right in front of your face.
Can you see me leave?

In this world, I am blood
and you salt water in my lungs.
Imagine me on the right
side of the bed saying I love you.
Does it hurt?