I saw a piece of pretty poetry today,
It was about falling in love one day in
January
And jumping out of it in
February
Then spending
March
In that pre breakup bounce of
Love/Hate
And realizing that things were broken one evening in
April
The first initial of the author who signed their artwork
AW
Was the same as the first letter of both of your monikers
For a moment there in time
I stumbled and my wretched blood organ sank far beneath my ribcage.
I thought it had been penned by you
About me.
Which was horrifying indeed
As we did not part ways until last May
And I could not bear the thought of you not loving me for an entire month.
But then I remembered
That while we became a couple two Januarys ago
You had been inside me long before.
Between my thighs
And between my breasts,
Inside of my weary heart.
And then with a sad sigh I recalled
That you never loved me,
So that it was actually approximately
Twenty four fucking months
Of me deluding myself
And hurting myself
And crying by myself.
Over you.
I am not worthy of your words
And I pitied myself for thinking the poem was about me.
Another girl
Must have been your muse and cause for mope.
You must have consumed us both
You greedy cannibal.
But then I looked again,
With sadness shading my sight
But forcing my eyes to gaze beyond
My emotion glazed stare
AW
Is not you.
And then I realized something more profound.
I had forgotten your last name.
But now I remember.
You are AC.
