All These Words, They Look Like You

You’ve leached your way onto all of my poetry
I cannot write sentence without your name suddenly hiding beneath each letter
The ink I’m using must just be the exploitation of my lack of allure
And I don’t even know how to get you off the paper
Your drafts are everywhere in my apartment
Under my a mattress
Drifting wherever I walk
Maybe I’m abusing the situation
Maybe I’m bundling all of my anxiety into just talking about the color of your fucking eyes again
Or your arms finding there way towards me

I’m allergic to redundancy
Writing is making me break out in hives
Itching my skin
Digging my nails into the imaginary places I think you’re hiding
You’re just another

Another boy
Another greedy motherfucker
That I can’t even hate
I don’t have enough energy to hate you
I barely have enough to breathe
Or open my eyes
Or smile
And now I’m just writing words
And they all look like you
Sound like you
Reek of you

Paper cut smiles are covering my skin
In-between each etch is a sigh
You’re tired
And so am I
But just because you’ve physically vanished doesn’t mean the scrapes have gone away
It doesn’t heal them any faster
You are not evaporating
You’re becoming oil spills
And ink blotches
And bad poetry

There are dwindling metaphors to describe the simultaneous abundance
And lack
Of you
My spectrum is becoming much more black and white
There’s nothing vibrant left to say
But you’re still living among my words
You’re shouting between each line
It must be the hand I’m using to hold my pen
The one you held with steady fingers
You must have replaced my extremity with a lovesick
Openhearted
Tragedy
Your voice is now replacing my poetry
And you don’t even know