over

alone

from my chair
i see the floor
where you and i don’t wrestle around anymore
but from here
i can see
the couch where you would make slow love to me
on me now
is the throw
that i covered myself with when you said you had to go
and in my head
are the words
that you never said and i would have died to have heard

 

 

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echo

puddles

sometimes i can’t help but think
with clarity and absolution
that i was meant to die alone

the stabbing pain grips my chest
at the most inopportune moments
and i choke as my mouth goes dry

in this moment i am certain
that i have run out of tears
and so i sob silently with no evidence

until standing beneath the faucet
the hot water blends with the streamĀ on my cheek
and i feel nothing

there is no knock on the door
no call or text or letter or message
to let me know that i am wrong

i am reminded by the silence
that my private tears are as unnoticed
as the mask i wear in the daylight