When I think of you there is this pain inside my chest. It's a literal physical pain and I feel as if I've swallowed blades and, God, they're slicing me through to ribbons. I should like to cough them up until my throat is raw and my stomach shredded and then maybe it won't hurt so much. I think of your voice and it aches in my lungs and my bones and I don't know why. I think of the way your eyes move over everything absently, when you're thinking, and a deep swelling bursts into my brain and throbs in my veins and I think I am bleeding inside. I cannot discern the difference between pain and anger anymore because my hatred for you is laced in compassion and it is poisoning me black and blue. I'd carve into my gut with a butcher's knife to bleed it out of me if I weren't afraid of losing parts of me. I thought I had taken you in increments, with caution and wisdom, and deliberate measured bites. But I feel your residue slicing about in twists and waves, as if to say I'm still here. And when I feel free and liberated and detached from your memory, a small dark inkling will creep up my back and into my brain and spread like wild fire. And I know, it hasn't been long enough. I need more time to scrape you off my skin and muscles and ventricles. I need more distance to sweat you out, I hadn't realized how deep you settled. Or how much you existed within me.
I think I swallowed you whole.
YOU ARE READING
Restless Things
Poesía"I didn't realize what damage heat can do To flesh so bare So I poured you out all over me Until I was undone And shaking But after the fire has gone All that's left is ash and wilted skin So now I know Better" -The Things You Left Behind (Poetry, P...
