palms to the sky
a patient sacrifice, i’m waiting for ink
to spill from my veins; to taste of something
other than you.

because i haven’t kissed you
in over two months, and yet
you are still in my bloodstream
somehow.
because every fucking poem, every song,
every sunset is about you and
i’m sick of going to sleep
praying for relief from thoughts
of your eyes, only to see them
in my dreams.

and i don’t understand how it’s fair that
you’re biting her bottom lip
the way i used to bite yours and not
thinking of me, and yet i am
hit with memories like rocks
to my temple,
sending my sandcastles
tumbling.