Parts and Pieces

We used to be in love.
Or at least I pretended we were.
Those moments I have played back like a useless mantra trying to make something that is not.
It is not cold enough, I will slowly decompose without You.
Its a maybe and it's forgotten.
There are flies in my throat and its all infected with the constant picking it receives by the likes of You.
I am overdone by not trying to find direction in all the wrong places.
Slowly going nowhere in the upper regions of Your body.
A shiver a sliver taken out on the edge of my heel.
Erase all of me, throw away all the pieces that could make sense.
Ignore the knocks on Your door at 3 in the morning, asking for some sugar.
I want to hold all the parts of You I am able to, the parts I understand.
I am left with zero, just a sterilized plastic bag with Your name on it.
We are outdone, though just for pretend once again.

Dru.