I feel…
blah…
Like someone’s drained
the last bit of emotion from
the well in my chest and
I don’t know why,
but for some reason I’m feeling
hurt that you’re kicking me
to the sidelines,
even though…
I told you it was fine…
My chest feels tighter
than a ******* corset,
but I’m not complaining
because I’m worried that
if I do, you’ll just redirect
that anger and frustration
of yours right back at me
and it’ll only get worse
from here on out.
But am I just supposed to
go against my nature and
bottle these feelings up,
concentrating them into
the very poison falling
from my lips, until we
both drink it,
or maybe I just drink it,
and fall apart even more
than I already have…
Blue lips,
pale skin,
and a hand me down noose,
whose lips poisoned whose,
or are we just drowning in the doubts?
Your lips,
your skin,
and a persistent lack of faith,
my lips poisoned yours,
and I think it’s time to escape…