Temporary

Temporary;
Quick and painful
like the way you went from
holding my hand to
holding my throat
like the instant joy and
sadness you could make me
feel
turning me on
and off like a light switch
like the hole
your absence punched into
my heart
when I only wanted
your presence
and all that I had ever felt
came bursting through the flood gates

Temporary;
Short and sweet
like the way your lips wrote
love poems on my
neck and left me
breathless
like the sound of your
tired voice calling
me ‘baby’
like the fire you
lit in my
heart that tried to
keep me warm

Temporary;
Like the way you
said you loved me
that never had
me convinced

Moving On

I constantly reopen old wounds
hoping that maybe they won’t hurt as much this time
hoping that maybe I really have moved on
but perhaps I’ll never “move on”
as much as become accustomed to it
too well acquainted with the cuts you
left on me
too familiar with this painful
instability
to ever let them fully heal

This is not how it ends

It starts with a tear
a gut-wrenching heartbroken sob
that forces my whole body to tremor
sweating with anxiety and pitiless emotions
which sends me head first into what
my therapist calls a “spiral of doom”

Degradation and self-deprecation
consume my being
and I can only think of how
lonely I feel or how
I’m not being loved or
fucked (in the more pleasurable sense)
or how the only person who ever
cared for me threw my love
away

But perhaps that’s why it hurts
to know my efforts will
always be greater
my love will always be fuller
than anything anyone can
offer me

Inconsistency

It comes in bursts,
like the rising and falling
of a fickle storm
with no end or
destination,
and like a storm
It is wet and violent,
treacherous to
those nearby
and beautiful to those
who watch from
their windows,
blissful and far removed.
Sometimes I seek comfort
in the storm;
in the rage, the tears,
the spiraling thoughts
and emptiness I do not
wish to feel, yet
it is all I have ever
felt. And we all
cling to the familiar.

First Degree

This emptiness
this agonizing ache
I cannot manage
to rid myself of
keeps it hand
firmly planted on
my shoulder
always there to
remind me of
every knife you twisted
deeper and deeper into
my spine
turning my mind
into a slab of paralyzed matter,
where it is cold and numb
and dead
and the worms have
already begun to make
their homes.
And I still cannot
fathom why I
needed to be stabbed
at all.