though you begged me to stop
said we weren't doing anything
except digging daggers down deeper
except watering & widening winter's wounds
& I knew, as I usually do, that you were right
I wrote
anyway
I had to keep penning the SOS with each heartbeat
it wasn't in me to stop
it would've been worse if I had
I knitted you too well to me,
cross-hatched bone to bone
I wrote you in my eyes opening each day knowing they wouldn't rest on you;
in the long lonely walks beneath the spectrum of autumn branches;
in the many meals that had lost all flavor;
in my hunger to never eat again.
I tagged your name everywhere
and added
some bridges were meant to burn
others should never have been built.
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