Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.

The Absence in Your Leaving.

The weight of your goodbye is the still
the heaviest, and most upsetting thing that I hold.
I tell myself: Its better this way.
"He no longer has so much of you, that he could translate
you into Victim."
Yet you left the wound Raw. Naked. Feeling.
Seething from the Alcoholic words
that are thrust against it with continuous force;
like two thighs rubbing together; Running
from a danger that is unknown even to u-
No me.
Some part of me thinks that the suffering displaced here
is the very substance that stops our chests from being sunken.
A mirage to what you wish was and a truth
to what you wish wasn't.
Yet we scream out, hope that someone will hold us
when we do because-
If our mothers taught us anything, it was to never give up hope.
That still isn't explaining us.
I'm not doing very well,
I just cannot mix into words how we turned from being caressed
within gentle nurturing hands, as the compassion rippled beneath
our intake. How we turned from existing
almost completely within another, finding a fulfilment right here-
in the space between my finger and your reflection in the mirror.

This line right here is the barriers we took down,
rioting elegantly against the masses, arms linked like two chains;
binding. Eyes wide as the horizon that stretched
out in front of us.

We never saw so much blood until the very day we tore each other apart,
desperate to find ourselves like fossils in a cliff side,
in the small hollows of each-others hearts.

I was a ship that you tried to sail into your poison vial vitality.
Doing so only ever broke me.

It's funny I think, how we bleed for others so much more
than we would ever consider bleeding for ourselves.
I cut my self while chopping a cucumber yesterday.
I guess it made me think of you.
You see I watched as the red wine lingered into place,
then poured like a slow falling fountain down my arm
and all I could think was:
"Right here, is the place you would decide to worship in,
I am the holy water you need to become clean with."

I guess what I really mean is: I want to be good enough for you.

Yet Without You, I'm missing something.
Something that isn't you. Just Some Thing.
Something heavy, that's sits over me, degrading as weights
beckoned into a swimmers pockets.
The thought of it melts away my conscience. . .

You are my form of a pilgrimage. That's it.
I have managed to fold you into stain glass that knows not
the meaning of shatter proof-
You can be destroyed-
Dear lord. Please, do not let me love someone who is so damaging ever again.

You are my form of Literature. Maybe that's the answer.
We juxtapose each other sinfully as though we thought we were alone,
as though we didn't care if people were watching.
You leave me as destructive as a full stop. No.
Something that ends painfully in the middle of a sente-

You are my form of resolution.
You are the reason as to why I'm screaming, hands off the wheel
tires blurring screeching steadfast into the nearest tree
because once again, I have become an instruction manual on
how to pull out your own brakes.
How to see the light in the quickest, most unforgettable step.

Is it wrong to say that if our love was colour that I hope we would be fading?
But we aren't.
We are fireworks of violent. Screeching. Colour;
bursting off this matchstick maker world hoping to find a light
that brightens up the ones we can cause all on our own.

I feel myself reaching hopefully-
Because if our mothers taught us anything, it was to never give up hope.
Out for you, but once again you have broken something-
Dear lord. Please do not let me love someone who is so damaging ever again.
My veins are detaching themselves from pure muscle because-

This here, these words on this page is the wound
I am not allowing to scar.
These words, right here, are awful when it comes to healing,
but wonderful when it comes to self-punishment.

Yet still...
After all is said and done, you, could reach your hands out,
touch me across state lines and I would-
Flinch-
Than come walking right back home to you.

Dear lord. You let me love something that isjust so damaging