10 March

There's a hole Above the pit in my stomach Where my heart should go I took it, put it in a box of pine Burned it with your holy book I watched the smoke curl up into the sky A slim finger, caressing my face in a way the licks of flame at my feet cannot In a way you never did And yet I still feel your hands on my face The ghost of your scent distorting my vision The touch of your skin on mine When i close my eyes I do not see your face But i feel your breath against my neck I remember how you felt Carved in porcelain Hard and smooth Your eyes unwavering with devotion made of marble But you're nothing like my memories You're made of flesh Of brittle bones and sour blood Like the blood i taste in the air Like the iron i'm clenching in my fist Like your golden brown hair But this pain that i feel In my lungs In my neck Pooling in my stomach and pushing against every end of my being I wonder if perhaps you feel it too, because the thought of you in pain is almost too much to bear And as the fire fades out and the darkness caresses me like a lover should, I don't feel angry. or sad All at once it seems as though I've forgotten what it means to feel anything at all, and all i can do is recall your touch And wait for it We're two trains headed towards derailment Beautiful and terrible But I can't seem to look away Don't look away