My first lover and I were far too alike
We gave everything too fast, and collided at high speeds
And I am still not able to find the words to describe how deeply it wrecked me
And how, if I cannot even comprehend this complete destruction, am I supposed to pick up the pieces?

Well obviously, I cannot be empty
I cannot simply learn to exist alongside the hollow hands that torture me
Oh
How their fingers curl into my chest cavity
Scraping my insides out
And they don’t give a **** what I do to end these violent crimes
They just sink inside of me deeper
And refuse to leave me here alone
Oh
How it aches like broken bones
And leaves a throbbing in my skull

When the nightmares begin to consume my body and soul, I begin to tear pieces of myself away, handing them out like tokens
At least then, I get to be the perpetrator.
The one in control of  repeating cycles of constant anxiety and perpetual uncertainty

I stand motionless and unseeing, breathless at his front door in the middle of the night
I memorize the curves of his mind and welcome the hollow hands to cut me into the perfect shapes to understand his perspective

Tirelessly, I bleed out for love that, somewhere in the back of my mind, I know barely feels good enough to waste my bandages on

I search for feeling like I am endlessly pursuing
I obsess over those who leave too many butterflies in my stomach, with wings beating so intensely I feel they are clawing up my neck and silently exploding out of my throat

The lingering belief that it is our privilege be a chapter in the book and never the hard earned happy ending
Comes from a smaller version of myself

She believes that we should be grateful to have breathed every ounce of our life into another until we could no longer feel the rise and fall of our lungs

She believes we are lucky to be destroyed over and over again
Then to never have loved in the first place