sjsprWriting

I found splinters on the tulips that you have me.

I couldn't stop seeing blue for days.

Eventually my back began to crack

until I carefully removed my spine

from by body,

knot by knot, I gave into words.

As my nails turned yellow

I felt the color too.

I cut off my fingers

and somehow after that,

your hands became easier to hold.

I wonder why I could never 

feel your presence when I was alone.

I wonder if maybe you were too busy 

being somewhere else.

I tried not to let the weeds in my garden grow,

but a couple of months later,

my hand were already mechanically attending to each invasive root.

I cried when the dead fell down, 

you were still trying to figure out the case of their remembrance.

I'd rather hear their screams

than your apologetic sobs.

After I cut your skin off of mine,

you gave me beautiful roses,

but they still had thorns,

and I couldn't stop seeing red for days.