Dirt

This feeling wasn't new.
We had been in this situation before,
more times than I could possibly count.
You apologize for your actions,
you seemingly care for a week or two,
then you are back to your old self.
I've said a thousand times
that I should just forget about you
and move on.
That would be easy,
if I hadn't wrapped you
so closely around my heart.
I have never understood
why I put myself
in the most vulnerable situations.
I treat you like a god
and you treat me like dirt.
The kind that you put in a pretty pot,
and plant a single flower in.
But then you forget about me,
the flower dies slowly,
and the dirt you have made me into
dries up quickly.

Copy Cat Monster

The darkness of the evening
was growing quickly.
The trees had become nothing more
than silhouettes with a moon lit background.
I sat on my porch,
staring across the street
in a increasingly growing drunken stupor.
I held my phone in my hand,
debating on whether or not to call you.
It had been a long time since we had spoken,
and I wasn't sure if I wanted to break that seal.
I lit a cigarette
and took a sip of my vodka and 7-Up,
as I replayed every encounter we ever had in my head.
It was awkward at first,
but that never stopped us
from diving into the depths of your blankets.
You would kiss my neck,
I would dig my nails into your back,
and we would dance along the mattress,
sweat beading on our skin,
electrifying everything we touched.
I shook my head
as I realized that I had let my cigarette burn to nothing.
I put my phone down
and finished the last half of my drink.
I couldn't stand the thought of you anymore,
and I certainly did not want to speak to you.
The fading memories of your voice,
your touch,
your smell,
your bed sheets;
they were slipping away with each drink.
It was that exact night
that I realized something vital.
I was becoming the exact monster
that I had always hated you for being.