#5
Run your fingers up my ribcage and burn reminders into my thighs,
Press your nails into my bloody chest and pull ‘til they’re reaching my sides.
Drag my skin ‘less it heals over memories, for these scars are all that can prove
that you’re not just a figment of imagery, that what I’ve felt all these years has been true.
Won’t you play me like a xylophone – tuneless and unmelodich.
Leave me battered on the sofa, so when I pass out I can pretend
that you are whispering sweet nothings into my torn and bloody ears.
Not that I’d hear them anyway, but it’s the thought that brings forth tears.
And I say that when I wake up, I’d like it if you weren’t still there.
Because I know we’ve both got places to be, we’ve both got other affairs.
And once we’ve struggled through another day, and our smiles - crooked and fading,
I’ll meet you again, in the world in my head, and we can spite my body together.
