I hope your dog is okay
By which I mean, I hope you are okay
By which I mean, I hope your dog is okay.
You know the ancient pug, that might actually have been an alien poorly disguised as a canine, that I took on a walk every morning for over a year, and then slept in our bed with us, and then with me when you stopped sleeping in our bed an in someone else's. Sometimes I miss her more than I actually miss you. Usually I miss her more, but sometimes, I think about her too hard and so by default I think about you too hard, and the poison of your breath and your lies start seeping into my heart again and I stop remembering how to breathe because I begin to miss you more than I miss oxygen.
I don't even know if your dog is alive still
By which I mean, I don't know if you are alive still
By which I mean, I don't even know if the girl that I fell in love with is still alive, or if she's been entirely consumed by the monster that crawled out from under our bed and started masquerading as you, turning you into a rotten fruit that was so sickeningly sweet and so wrong. The monster inhaled life and exhaled poison, so cleverly disguised you didn't realize you were dying until it was almost too late.
I tried to save your dog,
By which I mean, I tried to save you.
By which I mean, I could not save you from yourself.
I only barely saved myself from you.
YOU ARE READING
Lungs and Coffee Cups
Poetry"I believe we hold our feelings in our lungs, and at the bottom of empty coffee cups" The life and writings of j.l., a book of poetry containing absolute devastation and pure joy.
