it hurts to feel you next to me, like warm breath on cold shoulders, like knots in hair and breaks in bones. the distance between us is a kiss, a sigh, a shiver, and it's thick with lies and sunsets. it's like insides pouring over the sidewalk, concrete doused in blood and cheap perfume, trees grow over the street and over your eyes, downcast. the plane goes down and before impact, the pilot confesses secrets to all of the passengers who were broken but could still talk. he says "I'm typing this before I let myself forget, let myself be forgotten. I loved you all along, I'm sorry." and the passengers can't take this to their grave, because they're still alive, not silent, but frozen. and I'm alive, I'm alive, not silent, but frozen; your indifference scattering snow over my lips and limbs. I take my words and spin them into spiders' webs, yet you take your words and drown them in honey, and they drip down the chins of everyone who's ever loved you, everyone who didn't love you but wished they did. I take my words, I take my words and I tie them to a stone, and throw them out to sea. I don't want them anymore, and that means no-one can have them.
this is the end. this is the last thing I write. goodbye, heart.
