He’s sleeping on me
ear to my chest making it harder to breathe
Listening to my heartbeat
His eyes are closed when I want him to see
between the lines—
He leaves on my chest
wrinkled skin like tissue paper
I use to wipe my tears
Read the room
Resorting to discomfort from
familiarity in low patterns—
I’m used to this treatment
If only he knew
If only he saw—
but he’s too deep in R.E.M.
to want or remember…
My head on his chest
it’s getting hard to breathe
Am I the one not listening?
PaleDeerPoetry 