there is no sanctity
in the way you caress my face
although i always convince myself there is.
it's kind of like religion in that way:
all of the words
and thoughts
and actions
that created us
and linked us
are probably
fabricated lies.
and yet, i still look to you
as if you are a font of holy water
inside of a church,
as if your contents
were blessed
by some higher being.
i'm constantly getting drunk
hoping that maybe this wine
will turn into the blood of christ
or the blood of you
but it doesn't,
and i just get more drunk
and less whole.
it's a pity, really,
that i continue
to be so pious
and so faithful
to you, to god
when the only thing
the two of you really have in common
is you both love to let me down.

i
think
myself
sick,
sometimes.
there are these old memories i have of us;
i swear they're more heartwarming
than any romcom film.
on wednesday you kissed my forehead and
it made me feel wanted, at least for a few seconds.
i want to know why you can cheat on her with me
but you can't leave her for me.
you told me i was enough
yet here i am scrambling to find anything
that can mask the pieces that are missing from me.
i want to be whole for you.
is she whole?
does she know you're not holy?
*******,
i want to make you whole.

i walk on stilts
so no one can tell
how small you make me feel
does that make sense?
not everything makes sense
it doesn’t have to
you never did
and what i feel for you never does
i keep smashing our picture frames
and letting myself get cut on the glass
‘cause i’m not ready to clean up the shards
i don’t seem to be ready for anything
it’s been two months
since i’ve heard you sleep talk
and i swear silence
has never felt louder
now at night
i can't ever fall asleep
without wondering
how small her hands are
compared to yours
and if they’re enough for you to hold onto
i wonder how soft her lips are
and if you cringe
when she leans in for a kiss
sometimes i wonder
if i saw you in a grocery store one day
if we would make small talk
i wonder if i would want to punch your face
or caress it
i think i knew
that loving you
was a death wish
i guess i just didn’t realize that
you would refuse
to write the eulogy
or even show up
to the ******* funeral

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

my feelings are elusive,
my mind is but a mess,
and though the evidence is conclusive,
nobody knows that i’m depressed.

you were always so inconsistent:
one moment, a rock to cling to -
the next, a crumbling cliff.
I sought a sturdy grip
but my fingers slipped all over you.
you never did have a stable foundation,
perhaps that is why you fell apart on me.