You’re my type.
Bruised fruit. Grounded bird. Poisoned pool
That we’re all jumping into
To save yourself (ourselves).
Doomed to feel it all
Or drown it away slowly
Until you’re a diluted version of yourself.
You’re a natural disaster;
I just tread through your wake.
Moth to a fucking flame..
I just can’t quit you.
I wonder what it was
That you needed to find.
I wonder if anything
Or anyone at all
Might have
Lit your path
Broke your fall
Or sewn up your mangled heart in time.