i'm sorry if i hurt you,
but you should know it
was only to make sure that
my own heart was beating.
i held interventions with
all of the ghosts of your
pasts, and the skeletons
living in your closet even
decided to move out, but i never
asked for anything return.
no kisses, no belonging to each other,
i don't mean to be cold, i swear.
but affection is salt,
and i am still an open wound,
all i can do is apologize
and pray you'll stay despite
the fact that i don't want to ****.
my first taught me that pain
will come again after healing,
and my second taught me that
maybe i'm better off alone, so i've
decided to live my life permanently
bleeding, so i won't have to cut myself
open for whoever comes along,
i'm putting myself on display,
but please do not touch.
do not touch.

do not ******* touch.

all i ask is that you have respect
for the fact that my body still trembles
over the dreams of a boy with closed
fists, and i still wake up from nightmares
of his smile after telling me he loved me.
i am still in the process of healing,
i am still in the process of accepting
that those months were not my fault,
that the bruises weren't caused by me.
i should've known by his name,
that he would leave behind more things than one.
i mean, Mark?
is that not ironic?

so, once again,
i'm sorry that i will
never be what you want
me to be, that i will never
hold your hand in public
or whisper into your ear
and kiss the nape of your neck.
i don't think you'd
want that from the
living dead, a fully functioning
cold-as-stone zombie.