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