When I am done with you there will be none of me left. I will spend every fresh breath on keeping your hands warm and every salty tear sweetening your tea. I will break my back for you, to give to you in pieces one by one to keep you waiting for each vertebra until you want to piece me back together again. I will give you my liver my kidneys my lungs if they help you breathe, I will give you my hands if you want music, I will give you my voice if you want song, and I will give you my heart if you want love. There will be none of me left.
When I am done with you there will be none of you left. Every waking moment you will spend thinking about my hip bones and the marks you left on the insides of my thighs. You will open your mouth only to have my name slither out and you will wordlessly laugh at silly jokes I told. You will have talked and talked your way out of my sadness and you will be exhausted from me catching you tripping. You will wring your hands when mine are not in them and you will dream of my shoulder blades, imagining they sprouted wings but I would never fly away. You will cut out your heart and put it in a paper bag to bury and forget when I am gone. There will be none of you left.
When I am done with you there will be none of us left. Our late night sighs will have dissolved in the wind and our poems will be youthful and immature. Our dreams will catch sail and drown in our seas of indifference and our promises will run dry, the bottle will be empty — no more to break. The things we thought we’d do will diminish ten fold. Our nights in your bed in cigarette bliss will be stale memories in the corners of our minds that we will never bother to unwrap. Our sex will be licked off the sheets and engulfed by someone else’s scent. There will be none of us left.
I sit around waiting. I’m not sure for what. But I keep doing it. I’ve been doing it since I was a small child. I wait for the perfect voice or the perfect silence. Yet never can seem to find it. I may never find it. Does that mean I’ll never stand up? Will I always be waiting? What if this is the best things get? Right now is enough for my sanity, but is it enough for my drive? What am I really waiting for? Am I waiting for anything at all? Maybe I am just an apathetic angst-filled teenager. I am just a cliché- boring and overused. Never reaching the place it’s meant to go.