#spilled emotion

If I write you into my world
Then I haven’t given you up.
I tear pages of you from my heart
Erase paragraphs of your existence
I try to rob myself of your presence
And still I seem to cry tears made up of your promises and
breath air polluted with your words.

If I break my own heart waiting for you
And scribble it on a page
Then I haven’t forgotten you yet
You don’t know the color of my eyes
The taste of my lips
or the pigment of my cheeks
when you say hello.

If I write myself senseless stories of you
Being everything I ever wanted
Then your breath is still in my lungs
I exhale.
Trying to expel your beautiful taste
that has become far too addictive.
I choke on good intentions.
And bleed desperation.
Desperate to forget about you. Desperate to no longer depend on that smile to set my day into motion
and that voice to lull me to sleep.

I try so hard to erase you from my mind, to cleanly reap the seams
binding you to my heart,
and binding my heart to my sleeve.
It wasn’t until looking you in the eyes
for the last time that I realized,
my inability to form
a coherent thought about you
unless it was spilled across paper in permanent ink, was the tangible prison destined to tie me down for all eternity.

You see, I had erased myself from the pages of your book, only to find that you cluttered every chapter of my own.

r.t.