The trees blow gently in the wind.
The world is a soft sphere, unattainable by all, inhabited by any.
My breathing is not audible.
My voice kept on mute.
It’s only my body that responds to all this touching, all this grace that is you.
I miss your fingertips most, the trace marks they left on my skin send me chills.
I can’t remember what it feels like to be held.
The world seems simply black and white.
My brain is yearning to take flight, but my body won’t let it.
I’m forced to stay here.
I cannot stray from the place that has been biologically given to me.
I cannot run from the people that prominently surround my thoughts.
Coloring them up with new faces, new personalities won’t wash away the memory that was their existence.
I try not to remember what was good about you, and I do for the most part.
Yet, sometimes the voices behind my brain tell me otherwise.
Most of it factual too.
You deceived me in the greatest ways, I was your little fool.
Now all I have to keep me company is the stiff mattress, the blandly painted walls.
The cold that enters through my window doesn’t phase me, I refuse to shiver at all.
My eyelashes begin to blink back tears.
The process will reveal itself soon enough.
I’m alone now, but never forever, I will indulge in a new endeavor.
I just don’t know whom will take me, who will break me as roughly as you.
Is that what I want?
Is that all I’m capable to have?
This monstrous being I have created for myself scares the living daylight from my soul.
Evaporates all forms of kindness, all spots of mind provoking intentions.
All I can really keep myself from doing is suspending myself from warmth, kisses, weightlessness.
I think back to how we use to be.
You yearned for me, pined for me, courted me.
Where did that all go?
I guess I swallowed most of it whole.
I take what is nice and I demand it to be a demonic clown.
You play with my thoughts, toy with my heads.
It’s what I wanted, I shouldn’t be allowed to freight.
Will you leave me?
Will you keep me?
It shouldn’t matter, I erased all that was peaceful and loving about you.
I take away what you love, replace it with something unsettling and eery, I should only expect for you to resemble those characteristics.
I cry out loudly, I miss what I so foolishly wasted.
Rue what I so cruelly deflated.
You were my prince, my charm.
Now I have nothing but this useless remembrance of what I so thoughtlessly demolished.
Staring across the table I see nothing but the plant so dryly decaying on the windowsill. It reminds me of our passion, our lust. The missing of you has transformed me into this pitiful lush. Whatever comes from my loneliness, whatever comes from my pain. I only hope that it is the residue from what has subsided your brain from all thoughts of anguish from all thoughts of anger, from all thoughts of myself and the lingering taste of my lips to your mouth. Whatever becomes of you, I hope it’s sound.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
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