Why do I have to fight so hard for love?
I am physically caked in dirt and my soul in loneliness.
Ragged clothes and short breaths.
Fallen to my knees,
Black ink trailing down cheeks.

The blood
drips
.
.
.
delicately down my fingers.
I have cracked and missing fingernails from
clawing the walls they've built.

My hands burn from pounding on these stones.
My body broken from all the
crawling, clutching, and clenching I've done trying
to hold on to people.