My first lover and I were far too alike We gave everything too fast, and collided at high speeds And I am still not able to find the words to describe how deeply it wrecked me And how, if I cannot even comprehend this complete destruction, am I supposed to pick up the pieces?
Well obviously, I cannot be empty I cannot simply learn to exist alongside the hollow hands that torture me Oh How their fingers curl into my chest cavity Scraping my insides out And they don’t give a **** what I do to end these violent crimes They just sink inside of me deeper And refuse to leave me here alone Oh How it aches like broken bones And leaves a throbbing in my skull
When the nightmares begin to consume my body and soul, I begin to tear pieces of myself away, handing them out like tokens At least then, I get to be the perpetrator. The one in control of repeating cycles of constant anxiety and perpetual uncertainty
I stand motionless and unseeing, breathless at his front door in the middle of the night I memorize the curves of his mind and welcome the hollow hands to cut me into the perfect shapes to understand his perspective
Tirelessly, I bleed out for love that, somewhere in the back of my mind, I know barely feels good enough to waste my bandages on
I search for feeling like I am endlessly pursuing I obsess over those who leave too many butterflies in my stomach, with wings beating so intensely I feel they are clawing up my neck and silently exploding out of my throat
The lingering belief that it is our privilege be a chapter in the book and never the hard earned happy ending Comes from a smaller version of myself
She believes that we should be grateful to have breathed every ounce of our life into another until we could no longer feel the rise and fall of our lungs
She believes we are lucky to be destroyed over and over again Then to never have loved in the first place