i am the sting of rusted nails, the holes punched in your wall
(inhaling, keeping noxious fumes, the stale smell of the room
the weight of your body, heavy like cars
eyes without contacts out of focus
just like on the sofa bed, stinking of gas station liquor,
just like on the sofa bed, where your trinity raped me without conscience.)
what i asked for has become meaningless
among these lipstick-stained cigarette tips tossed with indiscretion into dead grass
burning timid ground, temporarily laying the memory behind my eyes to rest.
& could it have been too much to offer, you could have been somewhat kind
wrapped my body in tarp, bound red wrists & ankles in rough rope
(rough rope, rough rope i could not have stood
for fear it would have felt too much like the palms of your hands
against the insides of my thighs.)
is it possible, could i have found
the root of all our evils, through muted camera footage
could i have found, the root of all our evils
falling with this hatred all too eager to leave your boymouth.
you have left me with a pain i cannot leave behind,
even as the tires of the tired blue car take me where the chances of your body reaching mine
are as slim as a lottery winning or a promise, kept with first intentions.
your name will stay imprinted on this inverted heart of mine
as these holes cut within myself
refuse to let the pride i hold in front of me in,
the pride i hold in front of me for no other reason than you,
always you, who will not die like god and men and valentines do,
who leaves my self to be two things,
never similar, and never part of one another.
you have left me in a pain i cannot leave behind.
i put your name in a shoebox, scratched on a knife.
your picture tried to speak with me, but i singed your lips
with salt-like stitches
as my tears laid still as oceans against the lid.
i hold my hands close, bound against your memory.