The Permanence of You

2.0: Daffodils

I keep coming back.

I have lost count of the number of mornings when I've sworn

that this will be the last time;

I look at the calendar and the only thing I see are Thursdays.

I keep coming back.

I keep coming back to you.

I still tell you the story from day one:

how the night you have given me daffodils 

was also the same night you have saved me from myself,

that before I walked into your flower shop

I was standing at a convenience store for almost two hours,

staring at a pack of blades 

and thinking of how long it will approximately take 

to bleed my body dry.

You said back then

that there are a hundred different kinds of forgiveness

and those are the kindest first words I have ever heard

from anyone's mouth

You were wearing a shirt as black as that evening

but your face was shining like the most breathtaking dawn.

I was not able to tell you that not a single flower in that room

could ever compare to the dimple on your left cheek;

how could something hollow be so lovely?

You spoke of rebirth and 

you made me believe that my name

is precious enough to purchase flowers

You made my heart feel wealthy enough

 to afford the luxury of giving myself another chance

I wish I told you then that my soul had been bankrupt too long ago

I still dream of stabbing you some nights

I guess a part of me still shakes with rage

when I remember how many lives you've taken:

fifteen beautiful girls sleeping

underneath your faux paradise

It took me ninety five days to bury them all.

Richard, you have made a murderer out of me.

Sometimes I still lay down on this carpet of grass and dirt

and I feel as lifeless as a cadaver

most days, i feel married to a ghost.

this is not the forever I wanted.

i have never wanted us to be immortals.

this diamond ring protects me so well-

its cruel sparkle chases all the sneering boys away

as if the way it shines is as luminous as your anger

as if you're still here and telling them all

that I am yours.

And even if they cut me open

they'd only have to look at my skin to see:

I still breathe you.

I still bleed you.

Today, I still cry out to you, love.

I still say sorry in all the languages that I know

come back, Richard

Tell me about new beginnings one more time

My name is Nicomaine,

Your  Nicomaine,

All the daffodils and all the roses 

in the world will never be enough

but I still bring one every time I come back to you

wishing till they wilt

to see you smiling at me one last time.

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry I didn't save us.