letting go should have been easier
like peeling pictures from a frame
to be tossed into a box like other pictures
like how you have forgotten me.
i promised myself on several occasions
to swear off alcohol and you,
but the bitter taste is welcoming,
comforting--
i remember what it was like
to hear your name and not wince,
forever the butt of your joke,
several months that i still cling to,
months you've crossed off before they had passed,
and all the people on the outside
who think they know what it's like to be inside you
or me or what we considered love,
rolling around on the carpet,
burns on my elbows and knees,
singing bright eyes to each other
until i'd cry myself to sleep.
no, i don't think they'll ever get it,
not that there's a need to now,
but i like to think that it meant more to some
than it ever did to you.
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