The Obituary

It's not that I don't love you. It's the memories of us that haunt me when I sleep, keeping me up long into the night while others are happily dreaming, or making love.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the words that keep ringing in my ears like cracked church bells on a funeral morning, reminding me why I'm dead in the first place.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the feeling of the Luke-warm shower water eating away at my skin and the razor blade in hand trying to bring myself to do something that I know I shouldn't...but if it takes this pain away...

It's not that I don't love you. It's my teeth breaking with every word I say and tears eroding my cheeks and the kitchen clock saying it's 3:58...the kitchen clock is always wrong.

It's not that I don't love you. It's going to parties half wasted on the thought that you won't be there for me when I get home and throwing up at the taste of loneliness in my mouth before I've had my first sip of a mixed drink.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the feeling of nothingness in my center of gravity so when I try and stand, it knocks me over, making me lay in bed all day. The depression pills are starting to fill the void.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the fact that this is about you and you will never know because I think your new girl unfollowed me off of your account. Forcing this hard lump in my throat to take its place, maybe that's where my gravity went.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the fact that I do, and it kills me every day that I have to be around you but I can't be with you.