he keeps telling me i don't love him
that i think i do but i don't
that i couldn't or i'd do so and so
that i shouldn't anyway
that i wouldn't have left out
any aspect of my life i found unpleasant
he won't say it but he thinks me a liar
but i won't say either because he says
i make this up and put words in his mouth
so he asks me to explain what it's like
when my nerves bundle up so tight
and strangle my throat
and wrench my intestines
and why i hadn't fully explained
for four years

the best i can reply is that
this cold sweat and shakes
the revolving-door thoughts
merry-go-round panic
the bilious *****
the short quick breaths
and trembling lips
have become a routine
like washing my face
or brushing my teeth
so frequent that to mention it
seems below mundane

but i'd try anything for him so
without thinking too hard i'm writing about
how sometimes the roaring in my ears
fills my whole body like screams
of a person in agony i am helpless to rescue
and in my nightmares i watch someone else
plunge to the ground with wails like grappling hooks
and no music or lengths will drown
the siren call of the razor promising
relief at the expense of my dignity
a little quiet stolen from my future

i can't justify the selfishness of fear or
the cowardice of losing the best thing i've had
to the worst thing that has me
and though it was never my intention
maybe i misrepresented my strength
so i'll stare at the beer stain on my ceiling
when you shook up the bottle your third night here
and hope that when i dream
maybe this time
i'll be the one falling.