I die alone
every night
and i cradle the
bruises and blood
that you leave behind
so carelessly
strewn across the bed like
tangled sheets.
Last night
I read my thoughts
and I nearly drowned on your presence;
crushing me,
you have me tangled
in your sheets and
in your shadows.
my litany coma,
or just another outlet
for this bathtub sea
of blood that
you let me drown in
every nine months
but i tell them all, I say
These aren't bruises--
It's only shadows--
it's only the light
reflecting the memories.