I can’t love anything until I’ve sank my teeth into it
until my mouth fills with blood and all the mourning in my chest rises as my lungs take in too much air
i say i miss you
but what i really mean is
I miss talking to someone who hasn’t forgotten the way I taste
someone who lets me taste them when the ache in my chest is too heavy to carry
memory drips down your throat and you’ve convinced yourself that is what love does
i can’t write about him so i write about you and we keep pretending that love is supposed to stick to our insides, even as it rots
even as we rot with it
it was lonely thinking about all the people who didn’t want me
it was worse thinking about all the people who did