the dead don't hurt as much

i let myself fall when i trip
and when i stub my toe
i dont even wince

while im washing the blue plastic cup you drank from so frequently
i dont turn on the cold at all
i let the hot water burn my hands
until they are an unfamiliar shade of red

when the hunger pains come
i let them stab at my belly
then
when i slice my finger chopping the vegetables for a stew
(you will never eat)
i let the blood come
staining the cutting board
and the celerey
it mixes to make the mucky red and green of a christmas
(you will never see)

and when i hit my head on the headboard
while crawling into bed
i cry
but not because my head hurts

my eyes sting with an intensity
ive never known

but my heart
my heart
its worst of all
it doesnt seem to want to beat in your absence
i think my blood may flow again if i knew
you might walk in the door
but you wont
as it is hard for you
to come back through the dirt
and so ...
i hurt