i think of closed spaces and the tiny gaps between our fingers
and how much love used to linger
and the endless suffering which still surfaced as caring
because it was always too **** difficult to let go of each other
and we kept tugging and pulling at each others' fingers until we broke the other
and we blamed loved and claimed it as love
but we were toxic and killed the other
and still to this day, years later, we blame love
because we both desperately wanted and needed "love"
yet love and poison do not mix and all we ever did was create heartaches
i do not believe that i am fit for love, nor are you
love is not blood and the desire to die
love is not leaving the other when the fire becomes too high