"You're gonna die in there,"
He calls down into his heart
but it's comfy between his heartstrings
so I pretend not to hear him.

We took down the Sunday death toll
And laid down to sleep together
but the sound of the freeway rushing past the window
interrupted our dreams that night.

Swollen hands that beat broken hearts
"You're going to die in there"
but my shoe is stuck in the doorway
so I can't seem to leave.

Then he asked if I poisoned his tea.
I told him he was the only poison
I set before my nightstand
and lathered my lips with like balm.

I was drenched in his blood.
But he wanted to pull me out
so he could hold me again
so he could pick out the gravel.

Cleaning his wounds, I asked him to
**** me.
**** me.