Unrushed sunrise, orange clouds and lavender birds
blanket our world--your bed--in light
and I wonder, will elevator music play when you swallow me whole?
It feels miraculous to touch a dream of yours even for a minute.
But, there is no dice for the so-called statuesque;
my body turns to stone.
I fell in love (for a night)
just to blink my uncertainty the next morning in Morse (code).
My muscles tense to the tune of songs unsent, my eyes see nothing but you.
And I can't cry but for half a sentence,
yet crumble for my lack of repentance (to the world)
for the beating in my heart being poorly spent.
I love you, but you love your aesthetic--and you realized I just don't fit.
You're only interested in being the kind of person who likes a person like me.
You wear your lies like the lipstick you sucked from my neck, and
your betrayal burns going down like shot after shot of the cheap vodka you need your sister to buy for you.
This heartbreak is more than emotion.
It's feeling my blood coagulate inside me.
It's my body heaving with tears lost to the needles pelting me,
ending how I started: without you. First alone, now abandoned.
I am never not nauseous--
Thanks to you.
And I find myself trying not to vomit for the fourth time.
Fifth.
You're not the bitch you so desperately want to be, you're just pathetic.
The most interesting thing about you is how badly you want to be interesting.
The death of us I've been mourning isn't a death at all, it's freedom from you
because we're just an abortion; you can't kill what was never alive.
