I’ve left you on the back of old receipts as poems you will never read. 

A sketch of skin on used coffee cups and cigarette bins. 

Memories stuffed in pillowcases and drowned in growlers of grief. 

I’ve flushed you in a public bathroom once when you gave that look to me.

I’ve watched your social feed and felt my insides bleed. Acid relux to the Nth degree.

I let you comfort me with your stains, allow me to believe I’m some cure to your pain.

I’ve let you. I’ve left you. I’ll never be the same.


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