i find comfort in the smell of hotel sheets.
the bleach stripping away whatever, or more likely, whoever was laid there.
you get farther away from my memory each day.
i find it hard to remember your touch.
i don't even remember the color of your eyes — whenever you're around i try my best to avoid contact.
the taste of your lips is a distant memory to me
you've been stripped away from my consciousness, just like when the bleach hits the sheets.
i don't know your name,
it gets fuzzier day by day.
one feeling
i can not get rid of
is your breathe on the side of my cheek
humming the words 'i love you'
as i asked you to lie to me one more time.
burying your demons is your favorite pass time
you know they need no light -
no air to breathe
they'll just remain a crack in the empty glass jar where your heart once use to beat
never fully healing
because every time you pour yourself back in
you're as dark as a shot of whiskey
burning at the back of my throat
if i even dare to breathe your name.
it doesn't happen often
i let the hate for myself caused by your slip of tongue bottle up into my own cracked glass jar.
it seeps out and drips down into my fractured bones
filling up the parts of myself i can no longer love.
i am still trying to heal from things i don't talk in depth about
like how i feel love is complete bullshit
or why i made bad decisions for temporary happiness.
but one thing i can say is
people change.
no ones wrapped in caution tape
or stitched together with gentle warnings.
people are too complicated to have simple warnings.
instead, they come in sweetly whispered, empty i love yous
and perfectly fitted hands that would always let go.
