Friday, August 10, 2018

Seattle

There's a stone in my mouth.
It sits against my teeth and
pushes them out.
One by one, they hit the floor,
Plinking across the tile like skipping stones.

It salts my wounds where
They left me,
And I hate the taste of the flitting river fish.
But my jawbone is sore and creaking,
And it, too, falls to the floor.

I never expected much from empty promises.
They're nothing more than hollow sighs,
A waste of air,
Like rain plodding against a child's rubber ball.
Echoing, vacant, and flat.

We will never go to Seattle.
You're only saying we will now
Because you're caught in a riptide of guilt,
And basking in the glory of a
Magical moment away from me.

I realize now that you've grown
Too accustomed to my presence
And have decided it's no longer necessary
To love me the way you used to
When we were still new to this.

And this stone you've placed in my mouth,
It hurts so badly, but I can't speak
Around it.
I'm gagging on unspoken words
And the taste of fish.

It's so unforgiving.
I can't seem to swallow my pain,
Nor can I cry out for help.
And you're daydreaming about Seattle
While I crumble to rubble on the floor.

Is this the feeling of falling out of love?
I'm scaring myself with my own poetry.
But it's all gushing around the stone,
And it won't leave me be.
I think I'll be carried away completely.

You'll never read this poem anyway.

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