Concrete coffee grounds — stapled receipts;
messages from exes you’re not ready to delete.
It’s quiet now, filled with dead conversations —
a well-kept cemetery.
Ceremonies in eyeballed crowds, proclaiming
falsehoods of love in soft languages.
Meets and greets, all speaking the lies we
feed ourselves; sandwich boards worn like identity.

Some days, bored with myself, as I draw away
from a good time like a thin sketchbook filled
with half-drawn, abandoned things.
Pulling my heart from my chest like a drawer.
An artist, talking to his shadows —learning from
my old self like it’s shadow.

Avoiding those who tease with wet mouths of lies,
but kiss with dry tongues. Parched —
but maybe just too thirsty for love.
Being caught in a drought: a crumb of eye crust,
tinted with dry grass.
Still, I’d set myself on fire just to be noticed —
willing to be her wild campfire.
But even those fires need feeding.
You can’t give it all until you’re ash —
and watch them move on to another flame.

Making you feel not wild enough.
Staring at the ugly person in the mirror —
and what’s left after the smoke clears?
It's no longer a game of smoke & mirrors

I once held you so close, like a promise I vowed never to break, something I truly believed even time couldn’t steal. But now, all I feel is the silence stretching between us, and I can’t help but wonder what you’re really thinking. You say you just want to move on, like the love we shared was something disposable. Like I was just a passing moment, easily overwritten by something new. You’ll meet someone else, and he’ll get to see that look I used to dream was mine alone. Just the thought of it twists my gut. I know I won’t forget us, not really, but you’ve already turned our story into something you file away as the past. So I’ll laugh with the guys, play my games, maybe even mention your name like it doesn’t ache,but when the clock hits 3 am., I’ll be wide awake, haunted by questions I no longer have the right to ask. He’ll buy you a drink. You’ll smile, maybe even laugh like you used to at my jokes, and in that small act, I’ll start to disappear, washed away, bit by bit. I don’t think I could ever fill the space you left with someone else’s name. I can’t blame you for trying to move on. But, it hurts knowing you might be doing just fine while I’m still here, burning in the wreckage of what we used to be.