hollow hearts unite
remember red cheeks and wild tangles that lace around hairbrushes and his fingers alike.
remember posies in your hands and the juxtaposition of good girl/
bad girl
when you’re drunk in your room, alone, and listening to drum and bass
remember his smile that would filter over your skin as you press your back to his chest
whispering the ten commandments into your ear over and over
like some sort of obsession,
his ritual
remember saying you’d never love again (if he left)
remember his hand on your cheek, the sound, the sting, as he curses you for feeling love
- love is not holy –
And lust is a sin, and you keep your mouth shut, girl, as god commanded it.
remember you heart that hurt
as you’d watch the rain down the pane, mirroring the tears down your face
mirroring the white-chipped-enamel-bath-tub
overflowing with water,
leaping to the floor
the droplets on your head when it seeped through the floor
remember the bruise on your cheek he gave you for your damage
the money he paid to fix it,
but he didn’t pay money to fix you
and the bruises only darkened.
remember red-tinged eyes
remember the piano, the haunting melody, the pounding of keys, fingers smashing uselessly
against ivory, tickled lyrics,
remember cowering in your closet when you heard the sounds, the wine bottles
crashing to the floor, glass and red stains on the piano keys
knives in the mechanics, tears that take years to scrub from the leather stool.
remember the picnics in the fields in july,
icy baths in december because he was angry at you and
no heating, no warmth, no water, cracks on the walls getting larger larger larger
remember the baby
remember the pain the hurt the blood
remember then there was no baby
remember the marriage, the deteriorating love, hopeless red roses
but he was always allergic, and you always got blood running down your arms
when he made your own crown of thorns and pushed it down over your head.
remember the bibles he thrust into your hands, the prayers every morning
every night
every wrong (every right)
remember the whispers at night, when you’d share your deepest, darkest secrets
remember the next morning when he’d been gone, the bed is cold, and you stay up ‘til
4am the next morning, sitting by the front door with two hot chocolates
and you wait for hours (but you never drink his, even when it goes cold,
because you’re convinced he’s going to come back, and he’d be angry if you drank his)
but he never comes back.
he never comes back.
you burn all the bibles eventually,
and you spend five years picking the thorns from your skull.
