Maybe you’re just terrified that the distance will take over the already empty spaces between your words. Then again, how close are they now? Should’ve never said them in the first place. You kept infixing the wrong meanings into the almost right words and that’s how you ended up here, talking to yourself. Do they mean the same to her as they do to you? How would I know? More like “what would they mean if they didn’t mean anything to you?” Whatever that is, is exactly what they would mean to her. I hate how you always make sense to me yet I’m the one who’s called crazy when I tell people the same stuff that you tell me. Wait, are you crazy? We’ve had that conversation already. Maybe it’s because you don’t say it the way I do. Or they don’t hear it the way YOU do. Remember how you “INFIXX” the wrong meanings into the almost right words? Why would you “INFIXX” my infix? I like that word. No, it’s not a made up word. And I agree. But language is overrated. Everything we’ve ever read is just a different combination of the same twenty-six letters. Wait, why do you always do this? We were talking about her. Let’s talk about her. I like talking about her. Why are you even writing this down? I’m about to post it on the internet. Hellopoetry? This is not even a poem. You could’ve paragraphised it at least. Is that a made up word? ...yes.

Does your knife still remember the taste of my blood?

reading your poems

this website provides a lovely service
giving the unspoken a megaphone
(even though it's set to one)

many of you are young
thoughts about lost love
about who's who to you

it doesn't get easier, but
at least you can write here
feel safe, loved, famous

like the lust you lost
these pages will fade
a burning candle in a sea
of misplaced memories

so here you are
reading my poem
didn't have to
but did

Hands tied
Blind folded
And in pain
He sat there
As she explained
Explained to him
The rules of the game

“Every day I’ll cut off one of your fingers,
And you’ll count back
From one thousand by sevens.”
Going through her drawer
Of clampers and tweezers and scissors
She said
“Now let us, rehearse?”

She took out one of her knives
And oh so calmly
Chopped off one of his fingers
Asked “What’s one thousand minus seven?”
He couldn’t hear her over his own scream
She asked again
“What’s one thousand minus seven?”

“Nine hundred…nine hundred and ninety three.”
“Good! It isn’t that hard you see?
Now I’ll be back tomorrow
Oh, and this is just an experiment
In ten days, we’ll see what you become.”
He sat there crying in agony
Wishing tomorrow never comes

But it did, and he counted
“Nine hundred eighty six.”
“Do you know why I’m making you count?
It’s a trick.
I’ll tell you about it in the end.
Don’t bother trying to figure it out, you won’t.
So just keep counting till then.”

Days went by
And he was counting
“Nine seventy nine.” “Nine seventy two.”
As he was screaming and shouting
He lost all hope of freedom
At “Nine sixty five.”
Now the only freedom for him, was to die.

After ten long days
He finally knew what it was about
At “Nine hundred and thirty.”
She finally let it out
Unashamed as she explained
*“You see?”
It was all just to keep you sane."

Hot coffee
Cigarette buts
Sugar cubes
Plastic cups
Lay there
Beside us

As - I got high on her lips
She - ran her fingers through my hair
Left - me more alive than ever.

We were breathing
As slow as we could
Hoping to slow
Time down with us
Hoping to be
There forever

As - long as we stayed
She - forgot about the world
Left - *me more loved than ever.