I woke up this morning
and none of this made sense:
the way my hands were still
searching for you,
the way these ripped sheets
swallowed me whole.

And I know you left
to find something more
than a handful of poems
and a mouthful of I-love-yous
that always tasted sour on my tongue,
that spilled from my lips
because I wanted to be in love,
I wanted to feel more human,
like my skin actually fit around my bones,
as if this ache in my sternum
could be fixed by your calloused hands
that never understood that they were
digging into ice that would never melt,
no matter how many times
they pulled at my flesh,
ripped me apart,
stitched me together again.

And I know you left
because I was too heavy
of a burden,
because I tried to find a savior
in the body of a boy with a hungry mouth
who didn’t understand fractured things.

I’m sorry I thought you
could carry this weight
on your shoulders;
I’m sorry this bed is

Emily Palermo, Half-Empty
Title: Bear
Artist: The Antlers
Album: Hospice
4,617 plays

But we’ll make only quick decisions,
and you’ll just keep me in the waiting room,

and all the while I’ll know we’re fucked,
and not getting un-fucked soon.

When we get home we’re bigger strangers than we’ve ever been before.
You sit in front of snowy television, suitcase on the floor.