what remains

prying emotions with forceps because i
cannot properly Be. i know that
parts of me remain, lost in
the murky broth of my mind. i write
and i scratch and i yell and
i sob into the void begging to be heard
and told i am not alone. a warm hug
to carry, a forehead kiss. an inviting
hand, a waist grab. it’ll be okay.

did any of it happen? was any of it
real? i could touch you and breathe you
and feel you so deeply, feel
your hazely eyes searing me up
and down, hot and heavy. i miss you
at all hours, raw and beating.

were you genuine when you said you
wanted me? or was it just for that
particular set of weeks until it was
time to turn me into a ghost.
and for what, to preserve
your fragility at the expense of
authentic warmth? reduced to a
punchline, a comment where
i once Was. i will win no accolades
for hiding my heartache. i have been
stripped of what little poker face i’ve
ever had. you used to turn me inside
out. my days are numbered, now.

it will boomerang, darling. it
always does.

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