The Ballad of the Thirteenth
Please don’t forget that you loved me.
Don’t forget the night we met.
We talked for hours. About anything and everything.
I told you things I could never even admit to myself, and you shared secrets with me I swore I’d never tell.
Escaping to dreamland together, for the first time, in the same bed without thinking anything of it, felt so natural. It could have been hand sewn by the universe herself.
It was the beginning of everything.
I felt safe for the first time in years.
I didn’t want to drown myself in sorrows anymore. I didn’t need to stay awake for days at a time, practicing being alive; manic and alone.
We became two souls who didn’t need anything but existence with one another.
You kissed me like you needed my taste to breathe.
Your love was fresh cement I accidentally stepped into, and instead of panicking, I became so calm I fell asleep.
When I woke up, I couldn’t move. But there you were, holding me. And all the things I was ever afraid of disappeared into your eyes when I opened mine.
I love you.
But I love destruction more.
So when our heartbeats no longer sounded like a symphony; when you started looking at me like you were disappointed but not surprised, I knew.
I knew you thought you had me all figured out. But you were wrong.
Just wait.
The worst is still yet to come.
I barely have time to breathe anymore.
I haven’t been sleeping all too well since I left. I broke myself more than your heart.
The nightmares are back. Screaming, clawing at me to let go.
I want to write madly, vehemently, and let my emotions consume me, but
Fuck writing poems about you.
I’d rather have your hands around my neck, painting me with dark bruises, because at least I’d know how you really feel.
I know you’re hurt.
You can call me anything you want, just not at 3 in the morning when your new girl is keeping my side of the bed warm and you can’t get the smell of my favorite lotion out of your head.
You can look for me on the roof, making love to my third cigarette, half empty bottle of Lambrusco to my right and the smoldering ashes of you to my left…
but I won’t be there.
You’ll find me in the clouds where I’m inhaling the lighting and riding the thunder into the moon. My sullen tears will become the winter rain you so desperately despise.
You WILL remember me.
I didn’t mean for this to be more than a sentence or two, but thinking of you makes words pour out of me like cheap liquor into double shot glasses on 2 for 1 nights.
I don’t even particularly know how to end this.
There is no poetic way to tell you I feel like complete shit but I hope you’re happy.
