Fourteen

“Merry Christmas,” he said,
but his voice was as quiet as the air,
and our love, a black sheet of ice frozen on asphalt.

Slam the break—on the bridge, through the rails—take flight and say prayers.

God’s hands, cold as the water,
solid now broken,
Scarce as the ability to breathe,
the repentance for a life of sin.

“Don‘t stop breathing,” he said,
Carrying my corpse from the water,
But what of the bottle of pills, and how I had already signed the deal,
Ha, how I proved in that moment, God wasn’t real.

Hand over hand—push with force, wait, repeat—breathe deep, exhale in me.

“Come back to me,” he said,
Tears blatantly streaming down his face,
How acting school had quickly proven quite beneficial,
Oh, how you revealed you personal essentials.

Wipe your eyes—get over it to find peace—for you never really loved me.