My heart stopped beating weeks ago
The last I heard your voice
My lungs let out a subtle crow
“My heart stopped beating weeks ago.”
My hands are cold, mid winter snow
They do not have a choice
My heart stopped beating weeks ago
The last I heard your voice.
One drop of rain,
Followed by a thousand,
As the midnight sky tears open,
I am soaked once again:
I am drowning in a man-made lake,
And in these times I want to feel the fire,
So I hold it next to my skin,
Not to inflict harm,
But to remind myself what it feels like
To be burnt.
The rain falls
And the wet sand on my feet
Grinds against the brick beneath me.
Cigarette smoke on my hand
That I can’t get rid of
Just like these thoughts I’m having once again:
What if, I ask,
What if I had just allowed myself to love you?
But selfishness was always my problem
And the very fact that the thought of him
holding you bothers me
More than the thought of me not holding you
Reminds me that this is what had to happen.
Yet the pain remains,
And it only grows
And I see you in my head
And I feel you in my arms
And I taste you on my lips
I never knew that your absence
Could feel just as real as your presence.
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