I discern obsession
like warm blood
in the back of my throat,
rising with the choking bile
of what I can’t be for you.
It’s true:
I will always listen
while you rant
and lick your wounds.
When I said it,
I was not lying.
Still, I feel like crying
when I can tell you’re trying
to give me what I yearn for;
but by now I’ve learned
you can’t make someone
feel something
they don’t.