Do you remember the first time you
kissed her,
the second you felt the electric sparks
that were your passion?
Stung your lips like a fork stuck in an
electric socket,
puffy like a Peep put in the microwave.
Except you didn’t take it out in time,
so it exploded,
burning sugar all over.
That was a mess you didn’t want to clean,
but you did.

Do you remember the first time
you touched her,
hands on fire, leaving scarred traces down her porcelain skin?
Fingers quivering, every touch like a needle,
gently pricking a tattoo of your name
covering her body.
The tattoo remains, but what happened
to the needles?

Do you remember the first fight?
The one where her hair whipped you
in the face and
created marks deeper than the ones caused by your words. Your words, do you
remember those?
Or was the smoke so deep
that you lost them before you could
catch them,
thrust them back down your throat like
the life you devoured?
Was the drink too strong?
Did you have to wade through the waves,
ricocheting through the current,
a pinball game created by your idiocy?
She should have left then.

Do you remember yourself?
Where’d your heart go? Maybe it was
ripped out the day
they left each other and abandoned you
in the center.
Maybe it was sliced to pieces, like your back
as they took out their own inner demons on someone helpless, helpless like the day you watched,
trapped inside your own mind,
screaming to be released,
as you landed each level strike from
your tongue
on someone equally helpless.

Do you remember me?
I’m not tumultuous, just insane,
just like you, who’s just like me.
Who learned from who?
It’s not a quiet world, but why do you have to be so loud?
I’ve always heard you.
Even when I shut my ears tight and
covered my eyes,
I’ve always heard you.
The only difference now is that
I
don’t
need
to.