Crank Calls

You had winter in your veins and at one point in time I lived for your frigid temperatures. 

I spent most of my childhood sinking in the quicksand just trying to follow in your footsteps. 

I became a martyr, bidding away my innocence all in exchange for a swig from your half-empty bottle. 

My toes are twisted to the past, curled into figure eight knots- like the ones you left in my stomach with your silver tongue. 

I find myself summoning old memories in black and white reruns, even though I’ve played the film over a million times. 

I know how it ends. Yet, I keep watching like a deer in headlights because I long for the familiarity even though it makes me sick. 

Till I’m dry heaving on fermented timeframes riddled with Xanax pills and vodka breath; the smell emitting from the passenger seat filling my body with your intoxicated screams. 

I got drunk off your promises for better days, I sipped from your cup of sweet nothings. As if your illusive reality could quench my thirst. 

I spent four long years tediously scrubbing red flags- convinced they were once pure white. 

I used to wake from an alcohol induced sleep and burn sage in every corner, just trying to cleanse my safe space. 

I tried to rebirth your adolescence but it was already decomposing in Earth’s womb. 

I wish we didn’t share DNA, I wish you never touched me at all, because my body has permanent bruises embedded deep within places even I cannot reach. 

I’m slowly distinguishing the pronunciation of comfort, and it doesn’t sound like your name. 

All you ever did was visit. You never stayed. My comfort was a home you inconsistently inhabited whenever you felt weak. But you never cared enough to renew the lease. You let me sit, fully furnished with your bad intentions; all the weight you were tired of carrying was unloaded onto me. I reached my full capacity long ago but you were blind to the baggage bursting at the seams. 

I would rip out my lungs if it meant quieting my screams that keep you from sleep. 

I’ll bite my tongue because I know to you, my words mean nothing. 

I can’t keep rescuing, reckless you. 

When I walked away from you, I left behind a whole universe filled with emotional highs and lows. 

The day I cut you off is the same day my feet catapulted before me and I realized I had to pick myself up because you were never going to do it for me. 

You have to realize life doesn’t supply you with a first aid kit- and when bad things happen you determine if it breaks or bends you. 

I wonder why it is you never cared to pick up the phone for me, but you never hesitate to answer those crank calls. 

I guess you love being high more than the firm grounding I put you on time and time again.

You always found comfort in the chaos but I never stopped striving for serenity. And I guess that’s the difference between you and me. 

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