"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." Maya Angelou
So I pat through the dark
And call you on the phone
Push your old numbers
And let your house ring
I swear I’m okay. I’m just tired. And no, not just the kind of tired where I’ve had a long day, but the kind of tired where I slept for 7 hours last night, and yet, I feel as though I haven’t had a good night’s rest in months. The kind of tired where taking a deep breath feels like carrying twice my body weight. The kind of tired where I feel as though I’ve been searching for you as if you were the last piece of buried treasure on this earth. The kind of tired that I fear no amount of sleep can ever cure.
The promise …
is not simply the apologies
but also the
decision to give
Hatred of the self
for you to rest.
The “good-bye” speeches they will never hear because “good-byes’ are not meant for them.
The love I give you isn’t gentle. I’ll wrap my hands around your throat, lean in and breathe bullets into your mouth, watching you spit out the shells. Every touch from me has left a bruise on your skin, a reminder. Maybe you’ll think of me when you see them and return all those broken prayers I left on your voicemail. The only part of me I let you taste is whiskey and ash. The bitter, the burnt. When you reach inside me your fingernails scratch at an empty shell, grasping for the dregs of what little humanity is left. I kiss you until you forget what you were searching for.
hate me now if it keeps you alright.