to the one who broke me
i hope you’re doing well,
even though you called me a shitty friend
and listed all the things you hate about me
at 3 am on a monday morning;
because i can’t blame you for hating me
since i hate myself too
i hope you have found your happiness
or anything that can make you smile
even though you made me feel absolutely abandoned
like I was a crowded subway station
and everyone decided to get on the next train
that rolled through town
because you were the shattered glass
submerged in the dark corners of
my Philadelphia subway station,
and i was the unfortunate soul
to step on your shards.
no matter my sobs of pain,
your silence drowns me out.
it is the only song
which comes to haunt me
and i think,
have i been ignored or forgotten?
in those months with you,
i let my personality slip through your fingers
not mine, but yours;
like i emptied the contents of that bottle of vodka
into my hollow stomach
like i still do every night,
and maybe it's because i keep reliving the moment
where you decided you wanted nothing to do with me,
because that was the moment i realized i have no one else.
in the process of letting you pull me closer
i pushed everything else out
and crumpled old memories and laughs
until they were no more than the slight turn up
of the corner of a stranger’s mouth
you were the one with gentle green eyes
hazel rays of rising flames
who lured me in saying how
i could have been pretty.
and at the time i didn’t know that ‘almost pretty’
isn’t a compliment
but by then you had lit me on fire
and didn’t bother sticking around to enjoy the show.
you were the one with dark brown eyes
shots of aged whiskey and damp soil
eyes like that could grow meadows
and that’s what you did
planting thorns and roots through my chest
when i finally looked around
I noticed all the flowers were withered.
but blue eyes are the worst.
you were the one with blue eyes streaked grey,
those darkened clouds cried
and i thought the tears were real,
until i found your calluses
burning into the soft flesh of my thigh,
like my fathers cigarettes.
so maybe it makes me a fool, because
i’m still waiting around
in a crowded subway station
for someone like you.