I remember the day you got your first tattoo— it wasn't long ago but it was a different you. The gypsy on your arm has a habit of drifting into your head, and i know you can't stay in one place for too long but i promise my arms are warm for you. I'm repeating to myself that i have to let go before you cut me anymore, but the fingerprints i love are embedded in my veins. I keep telling you that i want to stay tucked away in your collarbones where the world can't touch me, but you shake so much that your bones are rattling.

Do you remember the day you told me that i make you change your mind all the time? That was the day that i caught your conscience sleeping in my memory box. Now i can always smell you in my hair, and the only solution i can see is to cut it all off but that doesn't make it go away. You're Novocaine, but i'm already too numb to say no.

I should ask God to fix me, but my knees are far too bruised from kneeling under your weight.