Talking To Myself

He told me about the drugs again
I could have sworn we were passed this.
But he told me about the drugs again
and how he’s unsure he’ll get passed this.

12 years he says
and here we sit
on a couch that has begun to feel more burden
than comfort
more comfort than
growth
more past than present.

I was afraid to leave the couch.
Pack and get passed this.
Thought leaving meant
I never loved him
thought leaving meant
he’d lose everyone who ever loved him
thought leaving meant
12 years was more powerful
than lifetime
past
more valuable than future
than present
than now.
I am afraid to leave.
The couch
is still a place we can come back to
but I question who I’m sitting next to.

Question if who I loved
is still who I love
if I’m capable.
Feel like
I am more anxious and less agent,
more fear than
hope.
Not sure
that I’m strong enough.

Wonder if I’ll drive myself crazy
and blame it on his 12 years.
Make them my 12 years
make his past something I need to erase
his future
something I need to create.
Knowing,
none of it is mine to have in the first place.

He told me about the drugs again.
I think about how I never noticed
him take her hand before mine,
how he took her inside
let her explore all those parts of him
he’s learned to hide.
He shares himself with her.
I wonder which parts of me
just don’t get him high.

And now I watch him in my dreams
fuck her into apologies,
look me in the eyes and tell me
how he doesn’t mean to hurt me.

And I think about
the times I must have fucked them both.
Oblivious.
Didn’t look deep enough in his eyes
to notice they were a bit less his
and a bit less mine.
Me,
fucking the part of him
I thought he left behind,
him,
holding her hand while grasping mine.

I dreamt last night
about holding her
deciding
if I should take her in and learn
about his demons
decided against it
didn’t want to be a hypocrite.
But still a hypocrite.

I think about the things I still hide.
He fucks her and I bring him inside.
Him,
not knowing whats entered our space
like me not knowing
she’s staying at his place,
heroin
has more control
than my presence could ever replace.

He told me about the drugs again
I asked him if he’s been faithful
he could never do that he says
no different than
he could never do that to me again
he said
but here she is
and here he stands
choosing
whose hand is more tempting

and I remind myself
mine is not in the equation
it is hers
or his
and I sit on his couch again
wonder if she’s breathing down his neck again
wonder if his hand holds the air
that still enters his lungs
wonder if he can hold it long enough
not suffocate on suffering.

He tells me about the drugs again
And I wonder
if we’ll ever get passed this.