I swear to God, the next time you lay empty apologies at my feet I'm just going to walk away.
The next time I try to anchor my nails into your arms, just pry my fingers off them
Because I can't keep being the lost and found box you steal from.
You stick duct tape on my torn corners and frayed edges like band aids and try to kiss it to make it better.
There was a time when your kiss wasn't stained with hunger, aching for more than I could give,
And I gave until there was nothing left of me
It was no fault of yours;
You drove that point home until I blended in with the asphalt and my skin was peppered with tire tracks.