Venus was back to her wicked tricks; I never planned for the way you stole the breath from my lungs, but kept me begging for more. Or what about the beauty in your words? The Goddess of love and beauty could never compare to the way you once made me feel.

I bet Zeus had never thrown a lightening bolt as shocking as the way it felt when you first held my hand. I bet every lover he ever had never quite made him feel as complete as you could make me feel.

But there you were, and like Hephaestus you built me a stable castle for every pulse of my heart. I never felt so safe in such a small room, but now the walls close in and even Vulcan's fire can't match the heat from your embrace.

You were also Mercury, and your quick feet made me trip far faster than I should have. I just wanted to keep up, but our messages must have been left behind and now Cupid's arrows don't quite work like they did when we were young.

I felt like Tantalus when you let the vulture of your mind rip apart my stomach and leave me in sections on the rug. You were the food held just out of my reach and you were the waters I drowned deeper and deeper into, day in and day out.

Every thread wound through this sweater traveling in different directions like the fibers of anxious thoughts dancing through the synapse in my mind.

I never felt anxiety like I felt the haunt of paranoia. I think the ghosts in the walls and the lurking shadows are just the memories of someone I once knew, but I swear you're there, I swear you're following me like something I'd like to forget.

Steam rises from my cup like a ghost, but I'm not sure if it's you or the forgotten versions of myself. I feel my heartbeat in my ears pounding through every vein in my body, causing my fingertips to pulse at every shaky thought.

What if it was you in the dark of the night? What if you were here like you once were? Would I drop my cup, or perhaps throw it, in a fit of fear. Or would I scream for you to leave, or perhaps for you to stay?

I swear I hear your restricted call "don't look back," but this is not a metaphor. I can't tell if you are trying to warn me through my dreams or announcing your arrival.

If the sounds in the walls never stop, will I learn claustrophobia in a form of everything that weighs me down and drowns me in a body of water that represents your eyes? You might was well be the rocks around my ankles; you stole the oxygen from my lungs but you forgot about the effect of loss of oxygen on the brain.

Every wall I ever built appears to fall down on top of me, but this is not opening my heart up. These walls and every brick are trapping me further under the weight of fear on my lips, every time I begin to speak, and the knot of helplessness in my throat begins to grow.

Now I'm not so sure if this weight is you, or just my walls you crumbled. Is this paranoia that follows me (I swear to God, it has to be you) or is it anxiety that locks me in a cage and keeps me up at night? Will I ever know the difference or are these all metaphors for a self-diagnosis?

It was raining the Saturday I hired the carpenter, but I think it was acid rain from all the poison you let escape into your body.
He was a drunkard, and he apologized through sips of alcohol. It was the color of your blood when I found you in fits and I begged him to wash them out of the carpet, but through every sip he said your name just like the walls do.
I begged the maid to clean up the razors but she never did.
The maid came in two hours late and she didn't seem to mind my frustration. Much like you never seemed to mind when you said the right things all too late.
She swept secrets under the rugs and listened to the creak in the floorboard whenever any weight was put on this old wooden floor that reminded me so much of your weak shoulders when I needed a place to hold me.
The builder was far too early, and the maid never cleaned up in time. The builder tried desperately to rebuild the walls, but they shook at the weight of another's skin on mine, and the builder whispered "I think you need him back." I dismissed him, and the force of my door slamming (much like the force when you left that night with everything but me) was enough to destroy every wall.
Gardeners came in flustered at the work ahead of them. There were scars on my heart running up the sides like vines and it was far too thick to be cut down.
I envied the fresh dug up dirt encasing the weeds that I so badly wished would hold my body too. You see I tried to burry myself in your mind but you kept pushing me out and now the dirt is the only thing that promises certainty.

You're standing on the front porch with your arms wrapped around yourself and you stare up at a spider weaving a web of every memory that ever left a hand print on the walls of your home. It all comes rushing back.
Do you remember the night after the fair when we sat quietly on the porch swing? "I believe when you tell me you love me," I whispered for the first time. I will never forget the way you grabbed my face and kissed me, because that was the first and last time I believed that it was possible for another human being to hold my demons safely.
Do you remember the time we sat on the bench in front of your house and we both stared blankly off the porch in hopes that my nervous shaky hands wouldn't upset your demons any longer and my tears wouldn't spill into your lap along with every other unsure promise you ever made me. Or have you tried to forget that as easily as you forgot how badly it bothered me when you wouldn't look into my eyes.
What about the time I first realized you were using me? It was summer then, and you begged me to tell you why I wouldn't leave that ******* swing. I did math problems in my head as you begged me to come back inside; back inside to that bed full of anxiety and I swear our smell was embedded in every ******* fiber of your sheets.
Do you remember the time I had given my innocence to you? Because I do; I remember how horribly planned and spontaneous it was, but after you had touched my face so softly and told me you loved me. You told me every time after that, too, and I think that's where we confused lust and love. But remember the couch in your living room, where we had laid ever so closely after our innocence had been taken. I had never felt so close to you, and I would do anything to have that safety back.
Close your eyes and picture us back on the couch in your living room. Feel every gentle touch and every "I love you" tangled between blankets that we used to keep each other warm when our bodies were cold and our hearts were even colder. Try to imagine the warmth we brought to each other between safety nets of our twisted legs and kisses that seemed to travel miles on our skin.
I try to forget the time I was an hour away for a whole week. It was our first time spending any time apart, and I had begged you to come to my rescue. You did, and I was thrilled to see you again, but we spent the majority of the time touching each other rather than talking and I guess I wish it had been reversed, because I hadn't heard your voice in days and my heart envied the attention you gave the rest of my body with your hands rather than your voice. I guess I just wished for more, and maybe you couldn't offer much more in that living room. I can't lay on that couch without imagining your weight upon me and I realize that maybe I should have given that couch more credit for keeping all our secrets locked inside it.
I can't help but remember the time you danced with my demons in my kitchen while telling me this is how things were supposed to be. A ghost in the form of steam raised from our cups as we spoke of our memories and watched each other laugh the same way we watched our goose bumps raise every time you said my name
My favorite memory of us was the first time you taught me how to Waltz in the middle of your kitchen. I was never really good, but you never stopped teaching me and your family became an audience of smiles and appreciation that was reflected within your own eyes.
but your eyes soon became puddles of tears when we grew further apart and our waltz became more of a sway between closeness and distance and the cold time floor in your kitchen were no longer covered in our footprints
Do you remember the time we had to go to a wedding, and I called you just an hour before because my hair wouldn't cooperate? You drove here as fast as you could in a fit of confusion and I still find it remarkable that you could fix all my problems, (including my hair of course), with just a smile and your creative hands. That bathroom had seen my insecurities, but you fixed them in just a few minutes. I wish it hadn't rained that day, because I felt beautiful for once, thanks to you.
your hands carefully crafted a smile on my face countless times. I can still see us laughing with our heads thrown back as we washed paint off of our legs which stained our hands more than the memory of your smile when I touched you ever would be engrained in my mind
The bathroom rug knew me well, because my tears stained it's cotton the day you told me you never loved me. Was it only days before that you had followed me into the shower? I wish you hadn't; I scrubbed the smell of rubber from my skin but soon enough we were back to touching. How foolish of us to think that there was nothing more to us than the feel of another's skin, because that bathroom rug knew far better then you ever will, just how much I loved you.
you undressed my body the same way you undressed my demons and stripped my heart of any walls I had ever put up to lock you out. I wonder if you still remember the way the hot water felt running down our skin or rather the way your lips felt like acid kissing my body one last time. I don't think you saw my tears through the water but my shaking body firmly pressed against yours was enough. Silent whispers of "this is all we'll ever be" came from the shower walls and I knew it was true
You left the bathroom. You had taken all you could and we moved into the yard. I remember the first time we were there; the wedding. Do you remember the way you squeezed my hand and looked at me as they said their vows? We talked so much about our future, and it was as if it was being displayed right before us.
I miss the time we helped your grandparents pick the garden and somehow ended up throwing berries at each other. It was such a waste, but we ended up playing tag and eventually you stopped me and kissed me in a way I don't think you ever had. There was not a cloud in the sky and there wasn't a cloud in your eye, and I think that was the first time I had seen you truly happy with me. I miss that yard and the childish comfort it brought.
It didn't take long for the rain clouds to roll in trapping us inside. It's funny how I've tried to forget this day over and over again but it keeps creeping back into my mind. I think that day in the office is when it hit me; or rather, you hit me. I was used to kisses on the cheek,  but not like this. Not with your knuckles. No force of impact could have possibly compared to the way it felt when you told me it was a lie all this time
I have never felt so content as the time I did when we laid under covers in your room and you fell asleep beside me. I watched your chest rise and fall and wondered to myself how something so beautiful could turn into someone I feared most
I remember the time I thought you'd be angry with my unwilling to let our unsacred touch happen another morning, but you held me close and said "It's okay, cuddling is far better." I had never felt so safe in your arms and the feel of you breathing was enough to regulate mine. I have never met another person who breathed at the same rate as me, and that saved me more times than I'm sure you could count.
But my breathing became far too unsteady for you to ever keep up with and my affectionate gestures became as boring as your excuses for why we needed to do more.
I guess our affection had run out, because four months of mixing up lust and love was getting old and eventually I had left. I swear everything became cold at that point; your once welcoming eyes, your words, the ground. I remember your comforting whispers in your bed, but I also remember your rough grasps and I guess we could never have both. I remember you, but do you remember me?

Your arms gave my demons a home since the afternoon of February 16th, and I knew your ocean eyes could drown them and free me from their grasp. Who knew those eyes would drown me entirely?

But eventually I could feel the darkness bite at the wires in your brain. They rearranged every night and I think you forgot who I was, because once August 24th rolled around, we had confused love and lust as we rolled around in between sheets, and that was the start of months of confusion.

You had changed the codes on every alarm starting September 13th, (or had our distance made me forget?)

By November 24th, I had lost the key and the spare was no longer under the mat. I still wonder how many had forgotten to wipe their feet while I was gone, so I gave up on praying that Venus would save us.

December 13th, my suspicions of your unscared touch every morning had been confirmed. I remember you begging for one more lustful grasp, and I wish I had said no, because when you told me you didn't love me I could barely stop my rageful fits on the bathroom rug.

Your walls came crumbiling down the following February 10th, when you begged me to come back home. But I knew your chest cavity was no longer warm and I felt no safety in the way you looked at me.

I loved you so much, but the calender is my only friend and this calender never lied, but you always will.

Sitting in a room of different demons, I wonder how some play so nicely with others.

Maybe this wasn't meant to be, maybe your hopeless-romantic demons cannot grab the attention of my self-hatred that wishes to destroy every hint of love I may conquer.

But I still feel them beg for the warmth of another's skin, so I wrap them in blankets and tangle myself in memories I'd like to forget; the way you'd get tangled in my hair, the way you'd whisper "mine" at every hint of doubt that so selfishly pooled on my face. But my fear never demolished and soon you were gone with the summer.

I beg to not let them win, but I still crawled into your bed every morning with an intent that had set my demons on fire. It was like fighting fire with fire and the flames grew and I let them burn every bridge to the ground.

I took the tools from the shed and built walls higher and stronger than I ever had before and the weight of another on top of me did not break them down like we had intened.

So I watched you pack a suitcase like all the others. "Don't forget your socks," I'd remind you as you'd button your pants again.

I opened the door for you and watched you leave from the broken window, but you never once looked back and all I have left is every bed sheet we crumpled and every memory we demolished.