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 ******* 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.