i hate the way my thighs rub together
and the way i feel when people leave
and the rub in my soul
with no reprieve

can they see the ghosts in the gaps between each blink
in the space in which they’ve claimed their own ?

do you like me (yes)
do you want to be talking to me (not anymore)
is it too much (yes)
am i too much (yes)
am i enough (no)
where is this going (to end)
what do you want (he doesn’t know, except not me)
will you hurt me (yes)
is there someone else (there will be)
do you like me (he did)
do you want me (not enough, not anymore)

God gives and God takes. Usually takes. God gives and takes and gives back and takes back. God forgive me my unfairness
“It’s not the end of the world if we break up.”
God, I hope he’s right

He struggles to be with me
I am a struggle to be with
He chose not to struggle

Why do we feel? How do I stop?

Why do we not take away the pain
But then those in pain cannot
And pain for purpose to warn
But what if the harm is only the pain itself
If what is bad is only that it hurts?
It wouldn’t matter that he doesn’t love me if it didn’t hurt
I don't know what love is anymore,
So I drink
Pretty alcoholism for the ache

Strength? Or masochism
Sacrifice? Or emptiness

The pain of being reused in the sheets she chose for him
In the hoodie she wore first
Haunted by a ghost who heard the declarations of love he would never make to me
Being the girl who follows in the shadow she cast
Where what she didn’t give him rendered him unable to accept what I could