You’re gone now and I get it.
I have to know with my lungs what I missed.
Did you see where the wind went
when it got knocked out of me?
Do you know it was by your side?
The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.
Except that my soul is burning.
This is an apology
for the things I have to say about us
to get over us.
I feel most like myself
when I am washing blood off my hands
in the shower; and I hope
whatever is eating you alive does it as slowly
as possible. I know it doesn’t sound like it,
but this is a love poem, this is a love poem,
this is a love poem
until it isn’t anymore.