Cloth itches its way down my scalp,
rubbing greasy fingerprints along my hairline,
and he is there, like always, but today I cannot concentrate.
One hand loosely gripping my dress like butterflies tickling my spine,
I can feel him, I can touch him, but today I cannot concentrate.
I wonder if his tie is choking his memories at all.
I smell for roses, or some sort of sweetness on his neck,
but my senses have faded and the dust makes me want to sneeze.
His teeth are skyscrapers, they’re sharp
and the windows bump along my lips until the glass cracks and I bleed.
Grey walls, grey button-downs, tightening around my neck,
tightening around my heartstrings, he strums these heartstrings
like the sirens I sleep above. I cannot concentrate.