now ecleticsins

actuallyagaymormon:

is it the icy wind

or the fact that you’re gone 

that turns my stomach in spirals

and forces the secretions of my being

into the porcelain tub. 

you linger in my bed side dresser.

why don’t you come out at night anymore?

i am trapped between forgiving and forgetting 

your musk in my mouth 

or your blood on the carpet

that has left a stain.