You're always forging me,
to see how far I'll bend.
Hammering me down,
to see how low I can go.
Your heat dances close to me,
but I can't let everyone down.

Though you terrify me,
I would probably still let you cradle me
in your cast iron vice grip
and sing me to sleep,
like Louis
like Ella
crooning,
when I can't breathe.
You could reel me back in
with the promise of
creating something beautiful
and maybe not feeling so
empty and alone
all the time,
but I can't let everyone down.

Your atmosphere ***** at me
and I'm dragging my feet through your sludge,
plodding forward with my eyes cast down.
You know when my mind wanders
or when I'm filling my voids,
so you can sneak in through the cracks
and take your place in my subconscious,
but I can't let everyone down.

I try to remind myself
why your comfort isn't worth it;
like peaking out of my blinds
or chatting with insulation
(pushing me towards one last line)
or fearing the world outside
altogether.
I'm scared because I know
that you're the only thing
that has ever felt like home to me,
but I can't let everyone down.
I can't let everyone down.