Stitches

In sporadic sentences,
you carelessly defined yourself,
and every third word
was tragic.

Treating the broken mirror
like misplaced bits of heaven,
I sang off-key,
trying to
explain away your flaws.

In hues of violence and
tainted perfection,
you sewed shut wounds
I didn't know were there,

but in your absence
I picked out every stitch
with methodic patience,
one for every hour
spent wishing for more

until I
completely unraveled
myself.