‘The Only Thing I am is Not what She Was’

She burned your skin with her touch,

nails drawn across fleshy roots

and venom sinking into veins

and fuck, it hurt

but you loved her,

and she loved you,

for as long as it was.

She hides behind demure eyes

between the lines that you call

out, behind song, behind strings,

and you taste her,

every time a chord comes

that was written with her tongue

in your mouth.

She tasted sweet, once

but sweet is short and sour is tangible

and you feel her

still.

She grinned, taut and gaudy

against porcelain skin,

screamed to fill up the space,

pushed you against a wall,

claws in your face and spit on your cheeks

and a broken vengeance

She’s got teeth,

and she picks your bones from the gaps,

between her canines, her thighs,

you’re ever-present.

I am not her.

but for you,

sometimes,

I am.

you spurn my soft words,

doughy intent,

bare your teeth against my touch.

in the mirrors around me,

her face is the only thing you see,

curves and chubby cheeks,

and suddenly she is beside you again.

the tips of your fingers touch the reflections

to know what is behind,

and she stares back,

and she consumes your sight

of the good in me.

I beg for you to please,

fucking see me!

but I find

that I am the one trapped behind glass

and as she raises her hand to touch your face,

I can only do the same.

Cleanse your eyes and notice me again

because I am

not

her.

04/28/19

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