You should never attack a poet,

we are the best at exploiting weakness.

the night you took a scalpel to my chest

& fed my heart to the stars, 

you told me i could hate you 

if i needed to. 

with an exorcism 

i tried to cast you out 

of my body.  

i was contorted limbs:

the language of tongues 

trying to find myself 

in the cosmos 

of lit kerosene fingertips, 

& the kinds of habits 

that only choke me at 3am -

when my eyes aren’t yet heavy 

enough for sleep;

my mind tells me to do awful things.

between fucking & 

i-don’t-know-who-i-am-

anymore,

you are the calories 

in the mathematical equation 

scribbled &

    scratched out 

of me. 

i think of shy moons 

and i don’t eat for three days.

admit it;

you only liked me

when this poetic tongue 

licked compliments

up 

    & down 

your scars.  

but, 

space shrapnel aside- 

you’re too far down now 

for even the stars 

to graph you into their maps.

This poetry is NOT mine. I do not have any copyright on it.

All the rights belong to *DearPoetry, on deviantArt.