deepundergroundpoetry.com

the problem

Last night you said I have a problem
but I am no longer your problem.
You washed your hands of me
but the nail holes must bleed anyway.
You were so good at crucifying yourself.

Old habits die hard.

I saw you with my replacement;
she doesn't have my problem.
She drinks diet coke; I know the glass.
She doesn't avoid bridges
because a voice always says
it's time to jump.

Her wrists don't have scars.

Your arms circle her waist.
Lips graze her ear,
moving in whispers.
I see steam-
warm breath in December,
I wonder,
if my problems
are pouring from your lips
into her too.
Written by beautiful_accident
Published
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