I’m afraid of heights, spiders, ghosts, clowns,
but mostly,
I’m afraid of how my body first reacted when you said my name.
Like the first jolt of electricity
Frankenstein’s monster must of felt
when they brought him to life
in that scientist’s lab,
I swear,
I didn’t know what living was till you showed up.

I don’t usually talk like this.
You see,
people like you don’t usually just show up like this.
It’s like how that girl
in the horror movie felt
when she swore she heard footsteps upstairs.
And how she timidly walked
to the slightly opened door
not knowing what was waiting for her on the other side.
Thats how I felt,
giving my heart to you.
Afraid,
that I might not ever see the sunlight,
because you burned
that bright
that I grew blinded from reality.

I’m not a hopeless romantic.
I don’t even own a heart.
Trust me, I’ve checked.
Twice.
I pried open my chest
to find nothing but ash
that was left from the last love
that ignited a flame there.
It’s gone.
I have nothing beating there
but the remains of empty promises
from past people that came into my life
but I’ll try to pretend it’s there if you do.
Please don’t look at me like that.
Like I remind you of someone
you want to love.
I’d rather jump in a pit of spiders,
lean over the highest ledge,
than tell you
the moment you first said my name,
made something in my chest move.
That the first time you held my hand
made those dead butterflies
in my stomach,
flinch just a bit.

I really don’t see the point
in giving someone else ownership of your heart.
Hands shake,
people break,
you are a ticking bomb.
But when you go off,
I’ll go down with you.
Though my heart will turn into
ash once again.
Just know,
that if you listened closely to it’s last beat,
you would have heard your name.