The One Where “You” is Italicized
I sit and I stare
At the blanket sitting
On the futon
In my basement.
I hate to think
If it was shaped like you,
It would affect me
Even less.
You.
You were the one
Who touched it last.
You were the one
Who wadded it up
And left it hanging
Half on the floor.
You were the one
To not only make a mess
Of my basement,
But of also
My mind.
And I may be a hermit,
But you havent
Talked to me
In 22 days,
And you haven’t touched me
Or my blanket
In 35.
I want to wash it;
Throw it away,
Burn it to ash.
But I’m scared
When I pick it up,
It will smell
Like your cologne.
And instead,
I’ll wrap it around me
And inhale it’s scent,
Letting it stiffen me
To sleep.
I’ve washed my sheets
And my pillowcases
3 times since
You saw me last.
But I know
I won’t be able
To rinse you off
Of me for good.
And that’s why
I sit and I stare
At the blanket sitting
On my futon in my basement,
Where you made love to me
The very first time.
And I watch it rot.
I let it rot,
As I feel myself
Decay
Right across from it,
And watch
You
Take another thing that was once
Mine,
And watch it decompose
Right before our eyes.
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The blanket was a great baton for your feelings!