I think of you
as the memory of our love
shatters like a ceramic plate, suddenly
I can feel the weight of your hands balancing
around my neck, I can see the fade in the colors that you left
The once divine touch of your skin
now makes me want to reconsider holiness,
the dreaded loneliness seems less like a sin and more like a virtue,
but the curfew of my heart always takes me back to you.
tastes bitter in my mouth,
and the color red bursts like the pipes on a cold winter morning,
I take baths in bottled water and refuse to call the plumber.
I have sunk to the bottom of this bathtub,
where the lingering afterthought
screams for the unspeakable,
and I can't help but to pray for a god to believe in:
for someone to make my thoughts amendable,
it's just that I keep feeling like a guest
in my own skin,
by the perpetual sense of peacefulness,
my pruney fingertips the only proof of the passing of time,
as if to remind me
of what's coming next.
I feel too much
and know so little:
it’ll come as no surprise
that I have a hard time differentiating
between your tongue and your teeth;
I am constantly pretending to be self-aware
but this performance I put on is all mouth
and no feet.
At the end of the day I do find myself
asking if there’s anything left of me to suppress:
I already learned how to walk without a backbone,
how to implode without making a mess,
learned how to speak without making a sound, and found
how much easier it is to stay
than to go; now I am stranded here, waiting
to see how tall your shadows will grow.
by the weight of my words and you will see
that the scales have always been off balance.
My ears heavy with the sound
like dandelions in the wind
I am only at my most valuable when I'm about to lose
crashing on the shore,
wildly and unwillingly.
You can tear me apart limb
I am drowning
in your bloodstream,
sorry: I never learned how to swim.