The last 3 letters of the spring

and it’s not that you left 
and it’s not your stupid neighborhood I can’t avoid 
and it's not your stupid apartment I can see from the sidewalk
and it's not our weekends in bed, which now I spend in the gym
and it’s not me hating this city
and hiding and hiding
blaming the heatwave
in truth I am just scared—it’s like missing a step, violently waking you up—or a lascivious sleep paralysis demon, lusting

and it’s not that you left 
I promise it’s not
I’ve seen worse
I’ve lived worse
I am broken I am ugly I am lonely
I’ve heard this before


and it’s not your new car
I bet it makes you look cool; I can tell it’s working, in fact, I am proud, so proud (!)
I bet it felt good to see me seeing you: then conceding; then spiralling 
all under 5 seconds 
‘cause your win and my loss—it’s like falling inwards; getting smaller and smaller until you are a dot and then nothing—I used to be the whole world
I wanted a coffee 
pointless to say I didn’t get anything
pointless to say I didn’t want to be there anymore
all under 5 seconds 
Essentially meaning crazy—isn't that always the case

And it’s not the fact that I want to throw up every time I think I see you—what kind of ptsd is that? 

Or crying in the stupid bathroom AGAIN
‘cause what…he’s moved on? he seemed fine? 
life’s unfair? all I did was to notice
next time I won’t care I swear

and it’s not even all that
I promise it’s not
It’s all ranting just like he said


The blind treason—If I didn’t stop to fix my trousers—something as simple as that
I would have missed it 
I would have gotten a coffee as planned

he wouldn't have seen my blue top, and my neck looking nice like that
he wouldn't have known I spiralled and cried in the bathroom
I wouldn't have known he got a new car

I honestly thought I’d have a decent day when I woke up—what kind of dark humor is that? 
I bet he’d appreciate the flatness 

It’s always the eyes; knocks me dead