Member Poem

Relic
 
She left you
and you needed it to hurt.
 
So you asked him to hurt you instead.
You needed him to hit you again.
 
You wanted him to hold you,
but you needed it rough first.
 
Maybe you’d wash his skin in the shower.
Maybe you’d sink to his feet,
maybe you’d open your mouth
O just like that.  
 
You didn’t think to smash it all and bathe in the glass.
You’ve got this fantasy where you scream
and take it out on objects – relics left around the house,
mementos of the life that you fucked up,
all the things you were asked for but couldn’t give.  
 
You push her and push her until she falls.
There’s a part of you that likes this.
 
You come home late.
She screams,
“I hate it”
and
“How could you do this to me?”
 
So you promise not to do it again
when you know this is just inspiration,
another shitty story idea,
another fantasy of whatever
this was supposed to be in the first place.
 
Those memories are relics now, too, only he can’t help you clean them off the floor.
No amount of I’m-better-nows or I’m sorries could put these wounds back on the shelf.
Remember, it can always hurt worse.
Remember to tell him you’ve learned.