I do things for you I only do for the people I love...

Is it ever enough? Presenting my body

at the altar of your wanting.

I am crying on the shower floor, praying

to porcelain and artificial rain.

Does this still count as a natural disaster

if every bit is fake?

Rereading your texts is part of my daily routine

to convince myself I’m Real.

Worn velveteen in a child’s bed, loved to life,

and carefully kept.

I cannot be make-believe if you perceive me,

so stop leaving me on read.

With every message I send, I feel you fading,

a phantom of past mistakes.

My structural integrity is failing, these bones feel weak.

I scream into the chasm.

This is not real. This breaking. We are standing

in the snow on Christmas Eve.

You’re dressed in red and kissing my lips,

on our very first date.

I can forget the leaving by living in memories

until the water turns cold

and I’m hugging my knees, begging nameless gods

for just this one thing.

Don’t take this from me, please. You said love,

what does that even mean?

I appreciate you reading my chaotic thoughts. I will be posting weekly <3