Bitter Vomit, Aching Throat. Poem by Cait Oiler

It’s a masochistic ritual,
Looking through her photos,
Imagining her and you,
You and her,
One.
I can taste the bitter vomit rise into my aching throat,
My eyes are swollen,
I feel sick with an emotion I can’t name.
Why did I do this again?

Finding myself living through these photographs,
Blurred pictures where I can make out your face,
Those hands.
I trace the faint lines of your body and feel hollow.
The ghost of your memory is creeping into my stomach,
I can taste your kiss.
But you’re gone,
Not even real.

No more real than the cigarette burn on my hand,
The hole in my scalp,
Or the man I slept with last night,
You’re nothing,
Just a memory of a time that never existed,
A reality I wish I could cling to,
A mistake that bruised my pretty face,
The fragile crack that has spread from my heart to my lungs,
I’m breaking in front of you,
Black-eyed lover,
Take your dirty, moss covered hands away,
I can make it on my own.

I’m more lost with you, than without you.