tears

I have hated you beyond my
soul's own recognition. I have
cursed the moments I gave to
you for free. But I read, tonight,
about a time when you didn't care
what was wrong with me,
and you scooped me out of my
hopeless state, kissed my
forehead, and fed
me a Hostess cake,
and held me, without a threat,
only holding on while I
let go, and in
my current, hopeless state I
cannot help but sit and wait
and hope that some day not
far away, you'll scoop me
up again, lift me to your chin,
kiss my heavy head with
the lips I've lost, and ask for
nothing but my weight in your arms
and the weight of my heavy heart
in the palm
of your healing hands.




I wish you were here to hear the sobs
that take unrelenting charge of the unsettling silence of my empty days.

I wish you could ride on the waves of my thinning veins, deep into my gushing heart,
and taste the lead of the regret that weighs me down, down, down whenever
I think of you.

I could turn around, but maybe the only thing I've waited to see is you running after me when I know I'm no good at turning back.

If I could tell myself a great enough untruth, like: that I was ever good for you, that I could make all the pain I've put you through be worth the holes I've dug in you,

I would carry my hollow bones, in a bag, to your feet, lay them down in defeat, I'd wish you well but tell you you're better with me in a hell of Without You than anywhere near your heaven of Truth.

I'd cover my clouding eyes, retreat to my tomb,
and I'd tell you I'd never known love until
I lost it with you.