I’m Not Joking

It’s serious.

She’s still on my mind

and I wonder about her

constantly.

I shouldn’t though,

she wouldn’t want me to.

In fact, she’d hate that I

wonder as much as I do.

It’s my lot in life though.

I hate her beauty only because

I want it for myself. I don’t

want to share.

I want her laughter for me

and no one else. I want her

tears and frustration and

the little fists of aggravation

pounding against my chest.

I greedily wander through

the ruins of my memories

clutching so hard to the photos

of the moments and the smiles

and the jokes.

It’s a phantom limb of a

relationship and sometimes

I can still feel it tingling but I’m

the only one who senses it.

So I cower away in the dark

spots of the night, imbibing like

the world is going to end and I’ll

never know love again.

I moan, again and again

only to find myself in front of this

blinking screen trying to explain to

myself why I’m telling you this.

You hardly care. If this was in a store,

you wouldn’t buy it. 

I’m serious. 

I’m not

joking.