I cannot stand lying close to someone,
with as little layers between us, I cannot;
a little closer, and you might hear
my tell-tale heart.
I cannot stand being held that close—
that close, and you might find
what was left of the words
of love carved on my spine.
I cannot stand to feel anyone’s skull
against my cheek—
I cannot
let anyone else
come close.
In another life, I was the tree under which I laid my head on your shoulder. You cut me down and counted my years; you etched your name on the fire scar on my seventeenth ring.
Something in your words killed me, shattered me, devastated me, broke my heart into tiny little pieces that dug into my pale skin and I don’t remember why, or what happened, or what was it that you said that hurt me, or what you said, period, but I remember the red and pink roses that bloomed on my skin that night.
