I am held together
by tape and pins inside,
make shift stitches
are the only things
keeping myself from
falling apart.
There are so many chips
In my skin
I do not know
If they are from mine
or everybody else’s
loathing.
My strings are so weak
there is no telling
when I will have to cut them,
and let my limbs
fall far beneath my feet.
You would think
I would be better
at keeping myself
from ruining everything else,
but I have spent too much time
tearing myself up
to know how to
hold anything worth saving
In my bloodied hands.
My lips have been
stretched so thin
from keeping all my secrets
locked inside
I drool blood and grief
through the sutures.
Please use me,
i have no idea
how to do this on my own,
and I am not my own master
anymore.
I don’t know how to exist
without you.
I have been left on the floor
for so long
I am a mess
of broken attempts
to fix something
that cannot be mended.
I am unsure
I will even work right,
but I need someone
to tug on my ropes
and make it seem
like I am more alive
than this.