My Guts Create A Tapestry - Poetry

59. Applying Your Rosin

I kept trying to get your attention. Are you addicted to cutting through the cake and looking at its insides pour out, and letting the ants crawl onto me? You'll never know what it's like to be cut over and over, I kept the pain inside to keep you interested. You'll never empathise, I thought, as I pushed the needles into your pillow. You aren't getting rest tonight.

You said you liked this girl and you're crying on the inside and I tell you that she's not nice, and yet you scream at me? Addicted to the pain because there's silky love sown into the stone-like cushions. Can't you see your experiences turned you into a girl of equal beauty even if it's not entirely?

I know there's a one in a million chance that she'll realise, I repost the songs that she likes, so she can see that I am cool. 'Look, she cares a lot about you.' Casuistry to keep the threads together, because pulling at them will only wilt your atropa. You knew that I can't lose you, and yet the coffin's closed.

Now I cover the coffin in orchids and wisterias, and I'm playing Lana Del Rey and The Neighbourhood while I'm crying atropine. You were so sweet that I gave you everything, and now you're the only thing, and now everything is nothing without you. I can't care enough and yet I care too much about your intents.

Caring, obsession, they're sickening things. You acted like it couldn't end, and now it's a problem to you that I got too attached? You'll never realise that I care about you in ways you cannot reciprocate. It can't possibly be my imagination. Lying repeatedly or am I there when you get lonely, only to abandon me, only to replace me?

I can't even dare to say that you two are a pair of cherries on the line, and maybe my poetry isn't even mine. At least I don't put people's names on ends, at least I don't pretend to care about them, at least I don't come back every once in a while, I constantly cry about you like a child. Whenever I stop crying, you seem to care, can't I get over your wasp stings again?

Why pretend you're even there? Your sour tongue spits out everyone, not everyone knows your stem tying tricks. You never experienced these types of things to empathise. Maybe your lies seemed cinnamon sweet, you got to me. You never tried to sting me, it's not like you were supposed to say, 'Sorry that you were late.'

Cut out your piece in my mind already, emptiness isn't any worse than your capacitance. Laying in your salt baths, I claim you'd never cause these wounds on purpose. You never say that you appreciate the pain I take instead, yet all the cuts are gaping open. You called me pretty, you're lying to me, it's all pretend. End this please, I can't compete again. You're only trying to tie loose ends.

Applying your rosin, I listened to you play once again. Your atropa no longer wilted. Yet, I couldn't ignore the skeletons in the closet. I yelled, 'Riley, can't you pay attention? Drop your cello and please listen,' and she yelled back, 'You can't take two options.' That's when I knew, the demise is two. You and I keep remastering the pain. And rosin? There's a reason you need to reapply. You're not the only one in the room.

© Sincerely, ♡ - October 2023