I can’t come crawling back
With the skinned-up knees of a child.
You are the bicycle I’ve forgotten how to ride.
Can’t you see how dangerous you’ve become?

My heart has grown too big for the space I’ve allotted it.
You take up too much room.
It thrashes and throbs against its cage,
Enraged, defeated, sobbing.

You’re always so far away from us.

I can’t drag myself away from this hell.
Fifteen years has worn my joints to dust.
The sea air stings.
I need summer grass and chamomile tea in the sunshine.
Can you give it to me?

Don’t let me take your hand.
Don’t let me kiss the nape of your neck, the curve of your lips.
Don’t let me fade into you.
I’ll never be wholly myself ever again.