Kiss me,
I'm sick.

I love you,
I hate you,
in 30 second intervals.
I shapeshift
in ten syllables
with no pauses.

You think that this time
it'll be different,
that I won't run.
And I flinch
because you don't
deserve this.

The truth is
that I'm already
dreaming of
wide open spaces
and books with blank pages.