When I Stop Loving Him
a poem on betraying yourself by staying or breaking their heart by leaving
when I stop loving him it is quiet
I wake up and his name doesn’t come to my mouth
and when it does
it tastes wrong
like burnt sugar and bitter wine
I spit it out and then immediately fake gentle
I smooth his hair back and fold out my indifference with tongue on skin until he forgets the deadness that was in my eyes when I yanked the covers off 5 minutes ago
The morning I stop loving him the coffee is sweet and I feel like I can breathe
but then the guilt sets and suddenly my ribs are lead
my breath hitches and my fingertips are bending
I say to my hands cupping the creamer, “you’re a fucking bitch”
and then I dig my fingernails into my side until my eyes are able to focus
when you fall out of love with someone who was supposed to be the one
the window shatters
the door slams
your wrists snap
you find every nerve in your body itching for the raw jagged hurt of everyone that came before
the ones who caked all of their trauma on your spine in places you could not possibly scrub off
all of the names that beat against the back of your teeth while you were fucking him and wanted it to feel less like a caress and more like a massacre
how do you tell a sane person that you are in love with madness
that their body was only a comma in a much longer story
that they have fallen for a wolf in sheep’s clothing
the day I fall out of love with him I examine the curvature of strangers lips
wanting to throw myself off the crest of their cupids bow
nestle in their teeth so they can grind me to pieces
I don’t shave
I forget to put on perfume
the night I fall out of love with him I break his heart
I watch it drop through his teeth and shatter on the linoleum
he tells me he is the best I’ll ever get
that the world is going to chew me up
that no one could possibly love me more
I say nothing
it is not a curse to want something more
it is a curse that I trust his safety more than I trust myself
it is a curse to stay
because he would never understand the thrill of being bitten and bleeding
of being mangled and starving for more than just a hand in yours
this is why you don’t fall for girls with poems slicing their fingertips
they’re not of this world
they’re made of something darker
and you will never be their home