​I buy notebooks and fill them

with traces of your

vivid dreams, and

I buy notebooks just to write

your name in them, just

to hold them close when

I can’t hold you. 

I write in whispers these days-



Your body is a house I wrecked

a while back, but 

I still want it back.

I sneak in sometimes (when

you aren’t around) and

watch it 


sneakily dissociate. You hide 

your love from

yourself: blame me. 

You carve yourself up: blame

me. You scream and watch

yourself bleed: blame it

all on me,

I don’t mind being the 

proxy between you and your

body, I don’t mind being the thing

you mistakenly

attribute your hurt to. 

I buy notebooks even now.

Fill them up

with traces of you.

Traces of your lips, lingering

on mine. 

I hold them close,


I can’t hold you.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s