It's Just a Poetry Book

Its not love

Oh, curse his wrecked ocean eyes with glittering sails that blew in the wind of his thoughts. Curse his bridged nose, curse his gorgeous strands of sunny hair, the sloping of his high cheek bones, the softness of his lips. Curse the way he held me, hands on my waist, a palm against my goose-pricked flesh, his mouth pressed against mine, flames burning in my mouth when he kissed me. He started the fire in my heart, the burning sensation in the pit of my stomach when he kissed my skin, his lips dragging on hair-risen neck, his voice whispering such sacred things in my ear. Oh, he knew how to make a girl fall to her knees. He knew it all too well. I remember the minty breath that blew on my bare shoulder, 'I think I love you.' I remember the way your fingers interlaced with mine, my hand turned downwards to avoid your curious glance at my chewed nails and blood-clotted cuticles. I remember the way you held my right hand in both of yours, warming it under the blanket, rubbing your thumbs against my wrist. How your forefinger drew circles on my palm, up my wrist all the way to my collarbone, trailing their skeletal outline, your soft lips planting gentle kisses upon my shoulder.
"I think I love you."
Those words still echo in my mind, clear as the evening you said them, cascading off dark corners in my brain, traveling through every vein until I'm utterly sick at the thought of your voice. Did you mean those words? Did you mean those words when your hunger burnt wounds into my chest? Did you mean those words when your teeth grazed my lower lip? Did you mean those words when your eyes darted all over me, everywhere but my very own eyes? You couldn't look me in the eye. You couldn't bring yourself to mutter the untruth while staring at my very soul that glinted back at you through mossy, tumbling eyes. You couldn't bare to lie to my eyes, so you lied to my body instead.
You didn't love me. If you loved me, you would've stayed. You would have put up a damn fight for me. You would have grabbed my hands, pulling me back to you, not letting me slip out your grasp so easily. If you loved me, you wouldn't have watched me burn in flames as you walked away as if I was merely a piece of flimsy wood that you tossed in the embers and it had caught ablaze.
You thought wrong, you thought bloody wrong! You didn't love me, oh no, you loved my outside. You loved my curving hips with a slight protruding hip, you loved the way my back curved at its lower, you love the way my ankles sported a delicate ankle chain, you loved the way my short hair fell coppery on my shoulder, the way it tickled my neck teasingly. You loved the way my collarbones stuck out, the way my shoulders sloped when I walked, the way my blades shifted underneath my silky skin.
You didn't love me.
You loved what I was. Not who I was.
It wasn't love. Because if it was,
You'd still be here,
And I wouldn't be screaming your name into a pillow at 3AM, with tears running down my face and the echo of your voice running through my veins. I wouldn't be staring in the mirror, wondering why I wasn't enough for you. I wouldn't be hiding under layers of sweaters and clothes in embarrassment of the lies I believed and went along with. I wouldn't be sitting alone in a coffee shop, wishing your hand was holding mine, wishing to kiss your coffee lips.

I wouldn't be missing you.