staring at the ceiling, counting the mosquito bites on my arm there are sixteen reasons why you left me but I can only remember the one that went unsaid "you cannot fix yourself" there is a constellation of scars on my hips and I can see your face, hear your biting words in them if I try hard enough. maybe it's just a reflection of the moonlight, or it's just one bad night. one of too many. am I the insect stuck between screen and glass trying to escape something shatterproof when the more effort I put in, the more likely I am to die? even the mosquitoes have become tired of seeing my blood it fills the sticky night with a sour-sweet stench of broken promises and lost lies. but god, I am the moth who only wants to get closer to the light. you were my light. and I'll leave the windows open all summer as if maybe you'll crawl back in through them I've broken the glass in all of them anyway I've named sunrises after you they too are supposed to be emblems of hope but only remind me of how broken I am and it's funny because I used to wish on every star that you'd understand but now I just wish to be able to forget you.