Moving On

If I’m half asleep,
my pillows feel like your doughy chest,
that could have felt firmer,
had you smashed the gym,
instead of my sister.
That was petty.
I’m sorry.
I know.

You know,
it would be easier if you were dead,
no offence.
At least then I could pretend,
you meant to call, but couldn’t.
You’re sorry.
I Know.

You know,
by the way,
day by day, it gets easier.
I’ve forgotten who you were,
and sculpted a softer, safer you,
that I miss more,
than I ever loved your reality.
You know?

You know.


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Your body, and the hopefully happy adventures you can have
I am the worst, but…

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