I write about you in cliches because the truth makes me feel guilty

I write about you in cliches because the truth makes me feel guilty

A handful of dried rose petals for her my younger blood pressed between pages

I felt like I was struck by lightning or my father’s open palm like half a prayer

Luminescent tears, diamonds cubic zirconia running from my nose

Eyes that sparkle and shine but don’t make contact when my best

friend asks me if I want to go to hell

Beauty is only skin deep my father’s drywall blades cut down to the white fat deposits

My heart full of sorrow arrhythmattic beats break against my ribs like the surf

Soulmates, you and I codependent and both girls devouring each other

Gaze into my eyes tell me we are all there is and all there ever will be and if

I don’t dedicate my scars to your arteries you’ll kill yourself

Girl next door three houses down, cut through a backyard, run across the street

Mentioned in my lover’s suicide note she’s never died with permanence, my Lazarus

Avoid her like the plague or like recovery

I leave flowers on her grave every year take a vow of silence and pretend I

still remember to check up on her