i cannot breathe.
my heart is on fire.
my body rushes with waves of numbness.
your love is bleeding out of me,
dripping from my fingertips,
drenching the ground beneath me.
you are the sun to my icarus.
the closer i get,
the warmer i feel.
too close,
and you're melting the wax off of my wings and sending me crashing into the sea.
i am no longer the last puzzle piece to your soul.
you have evolved,
metamorphosed
into something unrecognizable to me,
something that does not need me the way it used to.
you say you love me still,
but i know you're only pushing the words out of your mouth,
begging them to fill the empty spaces you've left in my chest,
as a way to tourniquet my bleeding.
the love goddess has cut the red string tied to our pinkies.
the memories of me are destined to fade from your mind,
my quirks,
my smile,
the way i would curve into your arms,
everything that made me yours.
i'm sorry that i'm too sharp for you.
my emotions are too turbulent inside of my body,
my words too bitter on my tongue.
i am the wave before a tsunami,
the flash of a supernova.
beautiful,
explosive,
uncontrollable,
difficult to love.
i cannot handle the universe by myself.
the stars are too blinding for my burning eyes,
the darkness in the sky drowns me without you to hold on to.
my façade is crumbling.
every piece of me that attached to you has followed you away,
leaving me a fragmented,
jagged mess beyond fixation.
15
DETACHMENT
Jenna Galvin
2019