I think I hung myself in your tears

Yeah, the other day I realised

One noose, one tear drop - same shape.

I choked on the salt of it

eternally thirsty now

When they fell from your eyes

they looked like showers of broken glass

How I wished I could have swallowed that instead

I think that would hurt less

I’ve got 6 bruises, 7 cuts, 3 scars

I’m still counting.

But why is it that there’s more pain produced by the healthy, beating heart?

I don’t want to reduce us to a poem

What I write will always fall flat

We couldn’t be contained by paper

We couldn’t be captured by pen

We were a feeling

We were a presence

And no, that didn’t die

It just transformed

- The way a growth seizes to remain benign

The way a masochist motion becomes self harm

The way a morning beer turns to alcoholism -

But as long as we’re living

We’re still a feeling

One that used to be the one

But is now just minus

What used to be a presence

But is now just absence

Like a hole in my flesh, deep and stinging

I’m hasty for the blood to congeal

I fear it never will