He fucking jumps out a window every night for your
happiness. He lands on the pieces of glass knowing
that it will feel better than the words that come from
your throat. The blood running from his shattered face
is warmer than the tears he used to shed for you.
He prays that they forgot under the covers.
When he curls up at night looking at the past spread
out onto his bed, thinking,
"what if she wasn't there?
", would those butterflies stop gnawing on his
esophagus? He calls out your name when there are six
feet of his life left. Then you finally call back.