The Kind of Love that Kills

He says “I will devour you.”

And his smile glints with the malice of all the times he’s kept that promise.

She looks straight into the depths of fatality and leaps anyway.

(she’s alone come morning, absent even a heartbeat).


Open Letter to Former Lovers.

I keep racking my brain, trying to figure out the best way to rid myself of you. There have been countless words, unending tears, random boys and girls, and more heartbreak than I thought possible since I left your life.

History has always been a hard thing for me to walk away from. And although we were together for such a short time, you’ve been a part of me since before, before this beginning, before this life.

I always focus on the wrong thing when it comes to you. The wrong moment in time. As soon as I start thinking about the beginning, it’s already ending.

That’s the thing about history; it can deceive you. It’s so easy to get caught up in the way the past connects you. It’s so easy to become blind to the way the present is tearing you apart. I think I always knew how we were going to end, the quiet strangle of our demise. After all, how could it have ended any other way?

I was always going to walk away.

You were always going to be the better person.

What I didn’t predict or expect was just how hard I would fall for you, how deep the rabbit hole would go. I never expected to give you all of me. I have grown in that absence, grown hard, grown weary. I forgot how to love after you. You left a fissure so large I separated. You took something from me, you took my love and my trust.

I wonder, every day, if you ever loved me. Did I mean anything to you at all?

It doesn’t matter. I’ve been looking at this wrong the whole time. I don’t need to move on from you, I need to move forward from the girl that loved you. I need to let go of the pieces of myself that I let you infect. I need to cut myself down, until I can rebuild myself. I need to completely dismantle myself and start from scratch. I need to carve out the heart that learned your rhythm. But even knowing what I need to do, even with you worlds away and back to a better place, I don’t want to lose you completely. (I can’t lose you, because you never mine to lose. You were never mine).

I know that someday my logic will rule out over my emotion. I know that someday this fresh new scar will bloom into a new person, that this pain is just the healing itch.

I gave you all of me. And I want to thank you for taking me. I have no regrets.

I hope you’re really happy. Because I’m going to be.


cruelty and miracles.

I’ll never forget the way
you looked right after sex,
blissed out with heavy lids
and a lazy, happy smile;
the things that meant:
let’s not fight, not right now.

and you would bury your lips
in the curve of my neck,
and fix your hands in the
space of my waist,
and for just a moment we were
stars without a purpose,
burning into each other.

Later, words full of hate
and laced with cheap vodka
would break the air between us,
and my own tongue would just
keep slicing the tension with
biting accusations, and neither of
us would ever say the things we meant.

There are moments, just before the sun
spreads over the horizon, when I
remember the sweet embrace of your
grin, the gentle comfort of your laugh.

There are moments, when the sky is
darker than the breath that passes from
my lungs, when I remember the silent
seething that led up to an alcohol-fueled
year and half long breakup; there were just
too many things to lock up all at once,
and I feel like you never shared the keys.

there are moments, in the quiet,
cigar pressed idlely in hand, eyes fixed on
an unknown future, when I dial your number;
a thousands questions fixed on the tip of my teeth,
poised in the back of my throat. (those moments
end with a well-timed email and memories
that just keep leaving bruises).

there’s this constant, this rhythm in my chest,
this undeniable beat of your name against bone,
carved into muscle and flesh.

It’s not a heart, but it feels like love all the same.