I remember the morning after better than I remember you.
Light pouring in like saving grace, like a flood offering
to wash you off of me. I remember things in shards;
I guess I loved you. In that way that some of us
love the things that bring us closest to breaking.
I guess I loved you like a bullet wound,
I guess I loved you like a scar blooming new,
I guess I loved you like an accidental tragedy
and I can’t erase what you made of me.
There are marks on my body no one else can see
where you did not touch me with tenderness.
These are the words I always choked back,
these are the truths I never laid out for you.
You hide behind gestures learned to make you human
but you can’t disguise the teeth in the darkness,
or the flash of greed when your nature peeks through.
We mold each other into monsters cast in sharp angles,
the ashes of our molting still hot at our feet. I laid my beast to rest
the day I left you. I still think of yours, still wonder if you’ve
let it grow bigger than you, if you let it have everything it wanted.
I used to remember you with some kind of sweetness but
I guess age takes away some of the rose-tint, I guess
sometime since we rolled around on your bed, your fingers
dirtying me in ways I would not learn to detect for years,
I guess I learned we either let the monster win or we bury it ourselves
and you are nothing but a picture in a broken frame
buried in the attic of a house I don’t live in anymore.