I feel myself
crumple and crease
like the folds of a
crushed paper bag.

My skin weighs on me
as I pinch the thickness
of my thighs and sides.

Bruises forming where
skin should be thin,
but has been memorized
by fingers that shake
whenever I cry.

I am not made of silk.

I talk about it to everyone,
in hopes that you won't
wrap around my thoughts
like the belt around your neck,
suffocating the life
out of both of our eyes.

You're the one thing I don't talk about to my therapist.
I'm scared that if everything between us
was voiced outside of my head,
I'll believe that it's true.
I'll believe that I'm a bad person.
that I did bad things,
because I'm truly in love with you.

Winter knows me better
than you ever could.*
Wrapping his arms around me,
and biting into my skin;
winter kisses my earlobes red,
reminding me I'm his.
And I'm shivering and shaking
and aching from his touch.
But, it never felt as cold,
as it did with your love.

You're a daunting ember
in the back of my mind.
I'm afraid you'll catch fire
to my consciousness,
smoky tendrils wrapped around memories,
your flames kissing my thoughts
like how you used to kiss me.

I miss your spark.

I miss the way you
took up my empty spaces.
Your words would fill me up
like a well,
that all my contents would spill
out at your feet.
You changed me.

I don't really belong
to a particular place.
Making temporary homes
of the people I meet.
Until they fall apart like the rest,
and I fall through the cracks.
*Life moves on without me.