Why Are You With Me?
I’ve left my bruises of last night on the bathroom sink
spread along the edge for you to taste.
How can you smile at my face?
You follow behind me grabbing my waist
into the bathroom. I only see your blue eyes
in the mirror staring into mine, so sinister
they are no longer familiar. And you shove
me against the bathtub running your fingers
down the exposed skin of my shoulder.
You slam the door shut with your right heel,
leaving our echoes trapped in the pearly tiled walls.
“I’ve never been so happy before!” You screamed
and let go of my shoulder and I fell towards the sink.
I wished that I pounded my head against the broken drain.
I wished you’d kick me in my chest until I’d internally bleed,
then I could finally see, finally believe
that poison fills my stomach to the brim.
I want to explode beneath ridges in your skin,
I want to watch you wither in our final winter,
I want you to float in a reservoir of flies and shit.
You led me into your hollow ribcage
as I thought about caressing the pieces
of your flesh in your twin-size bed,
but the covers would always leave me crawling with insects.
I wish I could lose the static burning my head
to remember the shape of your face spinning instead
of the torn cloth from the shower curtains
at the edge of the bathtub begging to wrap around my neck.
