If I Make It Out Alive

I would be nothing like the last time you

remember me.

Seconds were lifetimes of questions passed

hiding underneath sacred sheets and

below room temperature musings.

And in those moments I’ve changed

twelve times in all different forms of

my self-loathing, four of those

because of your abandonment.


“You didn’t get the hint for the past month” 

Like besides the words hurled between

us, and a phone call receiver reply of


a comfort and decay of

the familiar,

I still have to find  the spots where

the sun decides to give

some clarity,

that I still  have to search for

the red flags you

discreetly waved.


She’s exactly like you.”

So in those two weeks of

coffee crumble,

I heard nothing of your sweet

exchange that’s bitter to

the taste of our mundane-ness;

The facade was still the same,

I was just like her you said.

But better.

Better folds, better breasts,

better leg openings and thighs

that you’ve caressed.

I wonder if she smelled like me


but how would you know?


“I love her.” 

I had never heard the night

so quiet,

its voice was lost in the


and everything suspended

from all the things that

I had known about you

rumbled like an avalanche.

The stars choked on its

own and is consumed

seconds after the death

of the pyre.


“She’ll leave him for me.”

And you left me for her.




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