After 43 missed calls
And 10 times more unanswered texts,
I bet you wish I hadn’t stopped writing.
I bet you wish I hadn’t shoved my inspiration under the foundation of an old house,
Stepped on her neck and put a handkerchief down her throat.
I bet now you wish I would stop talking to you,
An empty growing silence that has been screaming into my ear for days,
And instead start spilling onto paper knowing I could never expect an answer.
I stopped writing when I learned about the destruction I never meant to cause,
When I learned of the arrogance in my poems.
My arrogance was just,
But hurting the person I love the most never was.
My words have eaten my alive.
So much to say and no one to listen
Will make you howl at the Moon and weep when she does not reply.
What do I do when the Moon stops?
The only thing we ever trusted,
The only thing we could both see at the same time,
The only thing that does not change no matter which continent we are on.
What do I do when she stops
And I keep on spinning?
Some nights I cannot answer the question “How do you do it?” anymore.
I don’t know.
Doing it is easier than not.
Fighting with you is easier than knowing we have already had our last fight.
We have tried, I say,
We swore this was not it, that it was just not meant to be.
But the Moon, stupid bitch, never stopped following,
Never stopped reminding us of the liars we became.
I never liked the silence,
It makes the rocks rattle and settle at the bottom of my gut.
It makes me think too much.
It makes me have this fight in my own head when you never said a word.
Seconds feel like months,
Each minute an avalanche down my throat.
Going through the memories, now,
Becomes more of a painful missing than a happy reminiscing.
Most days it is not “How do we do it”,
It is how could we not do it.
We can call this hell,
She will still know we are lying.