Toothbrush written by IKE You came over wrecked, smelling like smoke and cold, Fresh off a boy who never had the guts to hold. You laughed in little pieces, poured the whiskey neat, Sat on my kitchen counter with your shoes still on your feet. I watched you come unraveled like a song I knew too well, Like if I kept you talking, maybe you would start to heal. You looked at me so gently, it almost felt obscene, How something so temporary could feel so sharp and clean. Your toothbrush by the sink, One T-shirt in my room. You leave these little proofs, Then leave me with the gloom. Now I’m drinking what you left Like it’s medicine at night, Two fingers of your whiskey And a dim half-yellow light. You said nothing with your mouth, But your body made me stay. Now there’s a toothbrush by my mirror, And you’re somewhere far away. We slept until the afternoon, your hand was on my waist. I tried not to read meaning into every breath you made. You told me about the almost-love, the one that kept you small, The kind that makes a person beg just to not be hidden at all. And I knew that kind of story, I knew exactly where it goes, One heart still bleeding out, one heart mistaking it for hope. Still I let you kiss me slowly like you had nowhere to be. God, I hate how being honest makes a fool so fast of me. A glass ring on the wood, Your charger by the bed. You leave in tiny ways, But stay inside my head. Now I’m drinking what you left Like it’s medicine at night, Two fingers of your whiskey And a dim half-yellow light. You said nothing with your mouth, But your body made me stay. Now there’s a toothbrush by my mirror, And you’re somewhere far away. I know you didn’t promise. I know you didn’t lie. But you looked like something holy In the low and dirty light. And that’s the kind of danger No one warns you of enough, Not the boys who break your spirit, But the ones who wake it up. So I rinse my glass, And I pace the tiles, And I check my phone Like a teenage child. You’re with your friends, I’m with my thoughts. You moved on for one night, I clearly did not. Now I’m drinking what you left Like it’s medicine at night, Two fingers of your whiskey And a dim half-yellow light. You said nothing with your mouth, But your body made me stay. Now there’s a toothbrush by my mirror, And you’re somewhere far away. In the morning I’ll be cooler, I’ll be clean, composed, polite. But tonight your stupid toothbrush Feels more intimate than life.
