Change.

Location

The way your fingers look as they trace the palm of my hand,
Make me feel like there’s more to life,
Than what my relentlessly pessimistic brain had originally been adamant on believing.

Like maybe God does exist.
Maybe he’s looking down on the two of us together,
Molded effortlessly to your bedspread.

Like Wal-Mart designed this navy blue comforter just for us,
To envelope us in a sense of everlasting security.
As if we live in our own world, separate from any outside dangers.

I can see that old bastard, smiling above us from Heaven.
So satisfied with his work that he can’t help but retort,
“God damn, I’m good.”

My head rests on your chest,
And all I can focus on is it rising and falling,
With the rhythm of your breath as you fall into a deep sleep.

And I wish that time could stand still.
But it doesn’t. Time continues to change.
And you do too.

Now your breath smells like alcohol every time we kiss.
And it’s stained with an aggression that I don’t recognize.
Something that was never present in the beginning stages of “Us.”

The tenderness you used to give is now gone.
Replaced with force that scares me to my very core.
And I don’t know what to do.

Because I love you so god damn much.
And I would do anything for you to just smile at me,
Like you used to.

But now the comforter is just a comforter.
And the possibility of a God smiling down on us,
Seems as ridiculous as Narnia.

Because now when I see you, all you want is sex.
Even when I tell you no and try to push you away.
Your desires seems to outweight your respect for me.

Now my wrists always dawn bruise bracelets,
And it seems like forever ago but do you remember tracing my palms,
With the same fingers that you used to press purples into my wrists?

And I know that I’m no longer your girlfriend.
I've just become something for you to abuse.
Something to satisfy your sadistic, twisted needs.

And I don’t know what happened.
Or why everything changed.
But one day you just stop calling out of nowhere.

And the first few days, I just figured you’re busy.
But weeks pass,
And those weeks crawled into months.

And then I get a call from your friend that you were found,
Hanging in your closet rack.
By a rope.

And in that moment,
I got my wish:
Time finally stood still.

They say you were wearing some of your best clothes.
Button up shirt and tie,
With slacks that were creased to perfection.

But your weren't wearing any shoes.
And that’s all I can think of now.
Your bare fucking feet suspended off the fucking ground.

God, I fucking hate you.
I can't say it enough.
I fucking hate you.

I fucking hate...
Not having you here anymore.
As much as I try to convince myself otherwise.

It’s been five years.
And I don’t understand,
Why I still hope to see your face in a crowd.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741