too

like bleached ends

these arms will break before they stretch

back around you

these ends

need to be severed

stitched together

I’ve got a bad habit of picking at scabs

I still look at old pictures of us

never enough time to heal

before you steep back in

permeate back into my bloodstream

back where you belong

involuntarily,

its muscle memory

its dialing your number when i meant to call home

I still feel your name scraping my teeth when i talk in my sleep

I scrubbed so hard to clean your fingers off my skin

in school, they taught us about phantom limbs

but never told me I’d still feel the phantom arm around me

while I curl into your rib cage

seek safety in your sternum

I know you’re not here

but god damn its so nice to

pretend