I’m getting flashbacks.

A touch;

A linger;

A sensation.

It’s killing me

Because I’m not your only;

I’m a third.

And three is truly a crowd.

And I don’t know why it hurt so bad:

A few moments

In the darkness of a stage.

I’ll be living off of them for weeks.

It’s her.

You touch her the way you touch me.

SHe’s laying on your chest.

She doesn’t deserve it.

If you cut her open you’d find

Filth and sludge and hate.

Her ugliness stems from her heart

And she’ll fool you, she always doeds.

She wants you

She calls herself a friend

She’d slit my throat

Because she always gets what she wants.

Flashback.

I touch you chest

You touch my side

You pull me close.

Flashback.

You pick me up.

I hold tight.

I weigh nothing at all.

Flashback.

Your nose brushes my bangs.

My lips yearn to touch.

My fingers fold over your neck.

I hang on to it while I watch

You with her

Her with you

Pick one and let it be me.

I shouldn’t want it

I care more than you do.

Don’t do this to yourself, I say.

But I’m a stupid girl.

God, you make me feel sick.

I feel it in my stomach

I barely know you

And you’re already under my skin.

Flashback.

You pull away.

My fingers linger with a thousand things

That I wish I would have said and done.