When I close my eyes and dream
there isn’t a person that passes by
who can see me suffering.
And all of the people look like me.
But nobody knows what it’s really like
to be standing in the center of myself
and still be unfamiliar. To have sight and
still not have the ability to see.
My sheets still smell like you.
I sometimes think your fragrance has
seeped into my skin. And no matter how
many times I try to cleanse myself of the
pain you caused me, I still somehow
smile at the idea of you being close
enough to be a smell hugging at the
hinge of my nose.
I can still taste you on my lips.
But I was told that palette cleansing
was required to move on. So, here goes
nothing. Spit the taste of you from the
bud of me. Rid my mouth of words
said in times where loving was like
your favorite sweet treats. Trace the
blistered gums with your tongue
and remember that even the
best candies rot teeth.
With nostalgia comes a rush of all
things haunt-like. Like the words, I love you.
Like promises made after midnight. Like
not knowing you have to love something
for the last time and never actually being
able to let go. The sounds that fill in the
silence of breaking. A nightmare of
terrors. Better mute the pain.
I lose senses like I lose people.
At this stage of living, love has
paralyzed me. I can’t feel people
the way I used to anymore.
I don’t really feel much of anything.
I often wonder what feeling
actually feels like.
There’s weight, and there’s piercing
skin. Try not to let the feelings in.