Cigarette smoke. That nicotine-stained thumb. Your second-hand mouth. The purple staining the pores and skin beneath your eyes. How I swore the violet would stain my fingers if I reached out to the touch. The way in which you painted me in the identical shade along with your palms, your belt, and different issues. How I swore if I had been to excavate my coronary heart from my ribcage, it might be coloured the identical from all of the years it sat bruising like fruit within the palm of your hand.
All these years. A lot historical past. I by no means had a future with you.
All these nights you didn’t keep. All these nights you didn’t ask me to. Feeling cherished at the price of feeling used. Arranging and rearranging myself only for you. Being lied to. Mendacity with you. Mendacity for you. Preserving secrets and techniques from the folks I cherished essentially the most. Being your dirtiest one. Dwelling within the shadows for you. My mild seeping out all as a result of with out phrases you advised me I used to be a factor that would solely be cherished at nighttime.
Turning into one thing I loathed – a girl who would damage one other, the identical manner I had been damage.
Being your gratuitous whore.
All of the poetry that ought to have by no means been. Our love was low cost. Our love wasn’t love. It wasn’t your coronary heart, however your physique, that knew how one can love me. You didn’t take care of any a part of me that would not be felt pores and skin to pores and skin.
Being second greatest. By no means being ok. My price measured solely in intercourse.
The entire issues I by no means heard you say. All the guarantees you made we each knew you’d at all times break. Being wine-drunk in your front room flooring in that house on Bellefontaine, listening to you name me your destiny, listening to you say the phrases “sooner or later.” The wine we drank was low cost, so was your speak, have I discussed our love was cheaper?
Dreaming of alternate universes. Dropping myself ready for you. You’d name me your goddess, you’d get in your knees, you’d beg me for a style, however you solely knew worship behind closed doorways. What sort of a religious had been you?
The way you made me neglect that I used to be the one out of your attain.
You made me neglect quite a lot of issues. However largely you simply made me unhappy.
How I’d hate myself for nonetheless eager to really feel your eyes on me. Your palms round my throat. The welts on my ass. Your palm hanging my jaw. The way in which I got here the primary time you slapped me throughout the face. I mistook your vehement contact as ardour; behind it there was solely vacancy. The way you simply wished to personal me with none of the accountability.
How all I ever wished was to be somebody who mattered.
Me in a river. You a stone in my pocket.
I don’t carry you anymore.