Why is it that words pour out of me, now that I'm alone in the dark and thinking of your hands slipping from my cheek to my shoulder to my arms to my chest to my stomach to my legs to my warmth? Words pour out of me, now when you're miles away with nothing to say, and I miss you going down on me and I miss you holding on to me like a life jacket and you're drowning in your sleep and I miss holding you close to my chest, my arm numb yet being your unmoving pillow and my arm imprisoning you to me. Words pour out of me, now when I am truly alone and I realise that you loved me and I let a good woman go, I let you go after slapping you, pushing you, shouting at you, humiliating you, and yet never realised that my anger at you was not at you but at myself. Words pour out of me now, when I see pictures of you happy in the arms of someone else, a wedding ring on your finger marking your submission now to him and not to me, even though I was the first to possess you and mark you with love bites all the way down your neck as I thought you craved them. Words pour out of me now after seeing that you have changed and that you are able to look at me with the same smile that stole my heart one drunken night under the stars on a lonely park, bright even without streetlights because your smile was enough to light my darkness. Words pour out of me now that I find myself alone again, to face my demons and now they have your face with a black eye, bruises on your thighs, a chipped tooth and a smile and I realise you were my possession and I wasn't willing to share you anymore not even with myself when you transformed from a human being into an object and I want to say I am sorry. Words pour out of me now, now I see that you are smiling the same smile you had when I gave you that rose on Valentine's that you kept alive for a week and a day but with thoughts of another man and I want to slap you and shout that you cannot belong to him when it was me you loved for the first time. Words pour out of me now, watching you dance the night away as I am smoking in a fog of Kings and now you ask me if I am OK and I claim that I am and I wish you well and now I am walking out the door wishing I could have loved you a little bit more.
