I hate how I taste your name when I read my poems with a bleeding tongue. Since the day we met I’ve spent hours and countless words trying to portray these feelings with black and white, dark and light. In loving a writer you are given immortality and being a writer in love I am given memories of sounds that will haunt me in my dreams. It seems so unfair to me.
You can sleep easy knowing you are my first for many things. Smile knowing I’ve kissed you the most, the hardest, the longest. You can laugh at how easily my hands shake and how quickly my eye contact will break, call my innocence cute. Some nights I lie awake thinking of your past and looking at your present only to find myself less and less. I will not be your first of anything, nor your last. You’ll forget me just as fast as the others. Is it so wrong of me to want to burn my name into your skin with my touch? My kiss? To want to leave you something to remember me by and reminisce?
You say you love me, I hate that I knew it before the words slipped past your guard, that I found them in your gaze, in your sigh. I do not doubt your love, I only doubt whether it is for me or the way I help you breathe when you are drowning. My heart believes you but my mind doesn’t understand. It reminds me that I’ve been here before, like the acidic taste that follows the memory of a bad night of drinking. I’ve learned people simply don’t want to be left in this frozen hell alone with sorrow and Misery. So they hold me like a purgatory, swearing they care and won’t leave only until they’re warm enough to feel their heartbeat, then I’m left for a life that can’t sustain a ghost like me.
You kiss my shoulder any time you leave the bed in the morning while I continue to sleep. You call me gorgeous, pretty, beautiful, amazing. You care for me so tenderly, hold me so carefully. The truth is you have made me feel like I matter, like for once I am enough. It is so utterly terrifying. Because time and time again these words have been proven to be false but something in the way you hold me tells me I was wrong.
Yet I know I am only a downgrade, a slip up in low times. I get that you need me for now until you can stand on your own fine. I will keep your bed warm until you find someone better who can keep it hot, someone who won’t cause you pain and doubt, who won’t make you feel caught between what you want and need.
I know when you leave it will have to be completely. Yet you are part of so much of my life, I’m afraid I will regress to being empty. I decided I could never leave you like the rest, but you said yourself you can’t be “just friends” with someone like me, although you have forgiven others for so much worse. It’s okay, I understand, my presence is something like a curse, so I’ve been told. Everyone I have left has been without a trace, I can never risk lingering. So don’t worry my darling, just ask, I’ve gotten damn good at disappearing.
Forgive me for my words my dear, tonight they’re seeking blood. For your own words watered this seed of doubt until there was a flood and my lungs can’t keep taking on water. What it comes down to is I know I will always see your name carved in my ribs like a doormat to my heart for every other passerby to see. At most you will feel the uncomfortable tug of a memory when you hear a ghost of a harmony in a fleeting moment of a song
before you change it and forget everything.