I have never been good with words,
so forgive me for my jumbled thoughts.
I’ve been sorting through them
and tossing out the infected ones,
but my lack of immunity has taken its toll.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever get better,
but, for you,
I will try.

I don’t want to hurt you when I shy away,
so I’ll take the time to scrub out
the fingerprints they’ve left behind.
it may be tedious,
but my body is not their crime scene,
and I don’t need to keep the evidence.
I have never been comfortable with intimacy,
but, for you,
I will try.

I have never been good with coping,
but my hands have forgotten how to tie a knot,
my legs suddenly unable to jump,
my lungs insistent on allowing air in.
I have never been good at dying,
but, for you,
I won’t try
anymore.