Snow glistens, lonesome landscapes

Shadowed blue hues, short winter days

I dreamt of freedom inside a prison cage

like a bird with clipped wings, you kept me there

grown accustomed to the breadcrumbs, you called it love

one day you left the cage open, I stumbled out

Now my aching broken heart calls his name,

cherry red lipstick-stained cigarettes

I don't feel like a winner,

now that I've left for a while back in December

Trust me, I wanted to stay

but now it's February and I'm merely miles away

I've wrote you poetry everyday

Dreaming of breadcrumbs and a birdcage

You've made a home within me, between my ribcage and my throat. I let you sink your teeth in me, and a bite you took. My head is in my palms. Tired. Frustrated. Filthy self hatred. Blame. I blame you. I blame the woman staring back at me from that broken bathroom mirror. You cover it up. Try to at least. With makeup. With fake love. They say don't bite the hand that feeds you, but you've left my bowl empty and I crave you. You let me sink my teeth in you, and a bite I took.

If I could take your addiction, I’d press my lips to yours and let it slither in like a hunting snake. I palmed the cigarette from your pack, palmed it, lit it, smoked it. It burnt my throat. It hurt. I didn’t ask for another. I crushed the pills from your pocket. Crushed them. You always looked so beautiful with your head down. Head down and nose against the glass of the table. I breathed in. Like you, it was euphoric. But my nose bled the next day, dripped onto my favorite pillow. Once white, once pure, now stained. Eyes red, my head is in your lap, I don't sleep in my own bed. I need you, I want you, I have to have you. Itches. My skin itches. I'm sweating but shivering, the light is off, the blinds are drawn, where did you go? You've been gone. I palmed a cigarette from my pack, I palmed it, I lit it, smoked it. It burnt my throat. It filled my lungs. I lit another, trading one addiction for another. Kissing my illness into my new lover.

The worst part of falling in love with you, is watching you fall out of it. You never directly look at me anymore, your eyes hold no light as they wander around the room as you speak. You won't admit it but the reason you're so unhappy is because you come home to me. The front door will slam shut as the weight of your steps creak the floorboards, you will greet the dog, set your keys on the counter, and walk past me. I am a ghost in your presence. The memories we have haunt me. You used to love me fiercely, like it consumed you entirely. I think that's why I hold onto hope even if it's cutting me like gripping broken glass. I have never loved anyone the way I love you, I have never lived like I've lived in moments beside you.

However, I am growing weak, my love. My wounds bleed, and the crimson stream is staining my perception of you. You used to destroy me with a look, a single word. Now I look you in the face while you rip at my skin, and you're confused as to why I won't let you in. The worst part of falling in love with you, is falling out of it.

A letter you'll never read.

You? Smiling.

House? Home.

Love? Strong.

Conversation? Constant.

Heart? Full.

Heart? Breaking.

Conversation? Silence.

Love? Fading.

House? Empty.

You? Gone.

He didn't think I'd be home early. He was too occupied to hear my car tires crunch the driveway gravel, or the doorknob turn. Obliviously I stepped into the kitchen, humming to myself while pouring a glass of water. That’s when I heard it, low but distinctive. I almost doubted myself, the sound of my glass filling was much too loud to hear something so faint from our bedroom. I stopped pouring. There it was again. I felt betrayal wash over me, shock. I walked quietly down the hallway to confront my husband, who was watching our show without me.

I write you because I have questions I long to know the answer to. Who am I really? Am I someone you just threw together, just a series of quick random decisions? Am I a friend of yours? Am I a lover? Why do you write me to be this way? You created me for a reason. You created me with imperfections. You gave me feelings, thoughts, and dreams. I guess through this rant I realized something. I'm a piece of you, right?