I used to measure
the length of our relationship
by how many times
I had trimmed my
fingernails
since we had started
sleeping together.
I would sit on the edge
of the bathtub,
splitting my nails open
and peeling them back
to their keratin root
hoping to rid myself
of the hundreds of images
that had accumulated there
because of you.
Do you remember
how badly
you used to want to die?
Yeah,
well
so do I.
You used to disappear
into thin air
so often
that I wasn’t sad
or angry
just resolute
in never understanding
what had truly happened
to you.
Once,
I grew my nails out long
so I could draw blood
to the surface
of your back
just so that I could prove
that you were still alive
somewhere inside
of there.
But I never really knew,
were you?