I breathe you in like a morning
cigarette. Trying to remember
all the things I need to forget.
Caresses on my cheek when I’m crying
because a little piece of my soul is…
dying. Funny how love burns our lungs,
like those early morning drags,
and makes us think in clichés as we burn
down the ****. Watching the little red line
getting closer to the end, while thinking
how all good things come to an,
well, you get the picture while I’m sinking and
drowning myself in those things I need to forget,
with each morning cigarette.

The covers cried out
as I break free of their greedy,
jealous grasp. First small victory…
I’m supposed to count those you know?
To remind myself to keep moving.
I still cut out my heart today
and sat it on the kitchen table.

The knife smiled at me,
small victory for it I guess.
I felt the air slaloming
between my ribs
on its way to my spine,
where it grabbed hold.
Cold, unforgiving.

I should be used to the cold,
it’s the same every today.
My needle pierces the scars
as I sew the thick flesh back in place,
to keep the cold out, of course.
Reminding me of the days
the victories weren’t enough.

I stand and put on my sweater,
grab the heart, and throw it in the trash
on my way to the covers
to ask their forgiveness for thinking
I would be strong enough today.
The victories can wait until tomorrow
after all.