Corpse

I was you. 

     I was the smile you once wore and every laugh once you gave to the world. I was the tears you shed and the warmth in your bed, every thought in your head; that was me. I was you.

     I was your lungs and your eyes; the stars you wished upon at night. I was the moon you looked at and cried to at night because life was hard; life had its hands on your neck and was choking the shit out of you. I was the sun that welcomed you to morning.

     Now, you have grown cold. So cold that sometimes your glare could put me in a hypothermic coma, so I look away. But you are still a moth to my flame. You don't want anything to do with me. But you still hang around...even from a far distance. When you're not talking to her, you hate the fact your mind wonders back to me. Even for that second. You hate when you hear my voice or my laugh or when my name is mentioned around you so that your sweet eardrums, the ones I used to whisper soft promises of love into, hears it triggering a flood of thoughts. You hate everything that radiates me. I know you don't understand why. It is because I still linger on your skin. My fingers are still engraved on your heart and you hate that.

     I watch you as you try and drown the memories with alcohol or a few nights of partying. You try and kill the thought of me by loving someone else. It’s because the thought of me is killing you. I see you for what you have become. You're struggling. It's getting harder to fight your desire. When you are done loving her, you remember how good it felt to love me for those short gaps of time you did. You can’t sleep. I am the everything and nothing you hate to admit you love. I am the bittersweet unknown thing you can't leave alone. I am the one person who keeps your mind stimulated. I make you feel alive. I am a corpse of a thousand tears and of those memories you bury deep within you so no one can find them. The ones you always dig back up, because you realize they were some of the best you ever had.