JT,
You've engraved your initials so deep into my pulse that every boy who crashes into me catches me quicken in the same way.
I have always loved - before you and after, but always, I am drawn to the sharp edge of your scar where my bitter bitten fingernails scratch again and again till I bleed
These Boys, they mouth the same lies you did but it is your script I seek. You who taught me to cross my legs, my fingers and my heart so I don't get too 'serious'.
The Chocolate Boy who melted.
The Bassist who plays dead.
Superman who can't save himself.
The Night Prince who only wakes up wasted.
I've walled my veins, buried my blood, straitjacketed my heart, but the occasional heartburn always gets me to recount my pulse rate. I count slowly, checking and rechecking, till your initials are a blur, my heart a fist.
I paint my nails, my face, my hair, my body till I can barely breathe.
Your scar lies dormant, waiting.
Let go of my wrist,
I'm dying.
- Niv
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