And I told him, Ivan, don’t shout.
And he did, and he couldn’t hear me;
he was too busy, leaning over the edge,
teetering on the point of immortality—
on the edge, on the edge, on the edge.
He’s still there.

Then, is it okay to cry enough?
Isn’t it okay to keep helping him?
Or am I too stupid to believe—
“Ivan, please stay. Please don’t go”—
that he would stay, even after I’m gone?

Because, I still cried, even when I left him first.
Because I didn’t want to stay to see him leave me,
and is love okay this way?
Is this what love for me supposed to be?
Am I really that naive to have believed its lies?

I left. But I can’t help but feel that I’m the one who lied.

it's no wonder
you can't fall asleep,
when your tears
are ornamenting
your silky sheets

he told me i
can't have this
wounds patched up, i
can't heal
the only way to
close the
wound, is to
break
completely

so i
Broke
but i
am still
alive
help me
break
and let me
bleed out
in the dead
silence
of
night