Clean

I don’t know 
how to untangle
this web that is
more like metal bars
behind which I unravel
at the thought of you.

I want to reach out 
for answers
and decide against it.

What would you even say?

It’s the strangest feeling
cleaning a wound
caused
by the weapon I handed you.

I wish I never
invited you in.

Artistry

Our love was intense
selfish, at best.

I was the blank page you needed.
You were the clay I molded.

When we grew
into our own skin
my dear,
we woke
and couldn’t recognize the other.

You didn’t like
what I wrote.
I didn’t understand your form.