Fresh air hitting newborn lungs
lodged in a memory
made of mealworms.
Chalking dirt between
serrated incisors.
The day I asked a new girl to be my girlfriend
you left a note at my house signed "love,"
telling me you were infinitely sorry.
Some things just don't have an explanation.
There is a knife in my throat
chalking chords between scratched teeth,
words ground down to chunks of flesh,
they never last,
taste like the last
of something we had.
When I kissed your face
in my bedroom
there was no golden crust of light
you gave me head
and I didn't ***,
over the next year I fell in love
it tasted
like blood in my mouth
there is a knife
in my throat,
you placed it delicately
as if you'd be back
to pull it out
with hands still warm
from
spreading another's pulse
and stroking down the center
with one finger.
I said all the words I knew
hoping you'd hear some you liked,
I made a collage of spittle
and stringy voice box
from my insides you didn't come back
so your note
is noted but there is no "us" curled up
in grand central station,
no eyes glowing,
and there is nothing left to say, but
it hurt in a way I was not ready to know
and came
from a direction
I had never believed in.
Thanks for the golden days,
most of them were,
i'm sorry I crumpled so easily
I don't think i'll ever be the same,
that's a good thing
but you had to know you had to know
what I didn't
and someday you'll grow up,
it'll hurt,
it's worth it.
But goodbye meant goodbye.