i’ve spent my whole life waiting for you
feeding for you
bleeding for you
not all cuts bleed, and mine certainly did not
instead they poured out prose
and wrapped around the lies you told me
like ribbons around your neck
curling close to my ribcage
i’m hoping that if all my pens have run dry
from scribbling on napkins and rejection letters
my veins will finally be numbed of you
i am writing these poems with my bones