A treat

They say it takes
Six months
For your body to replace
Every cell in your body.
One.
I thought I was bad at math
But it seems I'm not;
because six plus six is twelve
And that's the last number
We will ever add together.
Two.
I push pain away
Like an unfinished dinner plate,
I spilled I love you's
Like a shaken Coke can
And the last sixty days
Have been spent
Trying to learn how to tear
Your smell out of my pillowcase.
Three.
Funny how calls go unanswered
Texts never replied to,
By someone who always said
They'd never leave you alone.

Four.
I tell myself I've made progress
I tell myself I'm halfway there;
Halfway to dialing your number again
Stopping two digits short,
Out of breath-
You see because my heart
Has been running
A marathon
Trying to disable its beats
From sounding too much like yours
So that maybe I can get some
fucking sleep tonight.

Five.
Who said that love was beautiful?
Who said that it was worth it?
Because it's been 150 days
And you're still the one
I want to call when
something doesn't go right.
And I knew I should have ran
From the very beginning
But my heart has never learned
How to walk straight,
And your voice made its steps
So intoxicated that I stumbled into
All of this without a warning.

Six.
Every cell you ever left a fingerprint on
Is gone.
Vanished.
But everyone has a ghost
And yours has still managed to linger,
Holding traces of your laugh
Imprinted into every new cell I've grown.
-- Something I wrote a long time ago on a dinner napkin. | JB (via cageddbird-sings)

*deep sigh*

Yaraki, that's deep.