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.