𝘞 𝘏 𝘌 𝘕 𝘙 𝘈 𝘐 𝘕 𝘍 𝘈 𝘓 𝘓 𝘚

truthbetold.

shall i say how it is
when the rain pours outside of the car
and i am staring out of the window
and i am in your jacket
(a hole in the sleeve)
and i am still shaking?
you were driving
and i could hear the hum of the car as it moved
and i could hear the hum of the radio as it played
and i could hear you
breathing along with me.

shall i say how it is
laying beside your body at night?
when the sheets we are sleeping on make us feel cold.
when the sheet above us make our dreams softer.
when you cup my cheek in your hand,
and with my own tears,
give me a wet,
empty,
kiss.
when you rub the skin you kissed and smile against
your own tears.
when i attempt to do the same but break down harder.
when you watch as i dissolve.
when you watch as i dissolve and its the last thing you see
before
morning.

shall i say how it is
when i go outside to the backyard and the radio is still on?
and when i dig into the soft, marshy dirt
i whisper sorry's over and over.
and you come outside to stop me
from hopping into
the grave i've dug.
next thing i know i am drowning as the rain starts.
next thing i know we are fighting.
you are laughing.
you toss the body in.
you kiss me again,
hard.
you say this is who we are, really.
the blood on your fingers streaks my cheeks
as you hold me as i shake
in your jacket.
and i breathe deeply into your chest.
and i stare at the still-frozen-in-shock face.
you tell me i cry a lot.

shall i say how it is
a month later?
i have kept the jacket.
it's stopped raining but the water is still on the ground.
i feel it as i drive over it,
dressed in black aside from the rich denim,
with the warm, grey inside
(though i don't remember you warm),
with the hole in the sleeve.
the rain on the asphalt feels thicker than it did before.
and as i'm driving,
i think about the funeral.
everyone was crying
but no one suspected that little, timid me
would have gotten the bullet stuck
in your head.
all they knew
is that i wept at the sound of your name.

— truthbetold.