you **** it up again.

caller id before she can hide from you
mother’s not done fighting but you don’t know that
she asks about your day and the weather and how is the brulee because she might get that next time
you think there are better things to talk about than overcooked pudding

you’re too much, too mean, chafing around the edges
sharp eyes and sharp tongue, a bed of knives inside
cutting out old scars
******* in the wounds
the words fall out of you, acid reflux slick and sweet in your mouth but you can’t stop-

she packs up her things six minutes later and it hurts more than a slap to the face might have if she were so inclined
and you wonder why you can’t love someone the way you were made to

Searing heat caresses me, melts me to the bone. It's better, so much better, flames so hot they consume all. I wonder deliriously why I've never done this before, never lit my fingers like candles to break the dark, never set a room ablaze to fight the frost, but I already know. No one ever told me how.

He carries me out amidst falling embers, and the loss is sharp, immediate. The fire evaporates from my veins, leaving me empty, burnt to ashes.

Are you okay? he asks, muffled through his suit.

It's cold, I say.

******* press upon my chest, above my heart, just enough to sting. Her hands were always bigger than mine, tougher, stronger. She pushed harder.

(this was how we showed our love, back when we loved)

She’s doing it now, again, staring. Staring, laying on the pressure, trying to pull a sound from my mouth, a gasp, a curse, a moan, anything.

Her short nails leave half moons in my skin, a pair of eyes winking up at me.