I swear to God, the next time you lay empty apologies at my feet I'm just going to walk away.
The next time I try to anchor my nails into your arms, just pry my fingers off them
Because I can't keep being the lost and found box you steal from.
You stick duct tape on my torn corners and frayed edges like band aids and try to kiss it to make it better.
There was a time when your kiss wasn't stained with hunger, aching for more than I could give,
And I gave until there was nothing left of me
It was no fault of yours;
You drove that point home until I blended in with the asphalt and my skin was peppered with tire tracks.

Do we confess to our crimes tonight?
Before I get the chance to flee,
We’ll find that we’re not quite
What we’d expected love to be.
You kiss me and I slur my words,
I get lost in streetlight.
I can’t help but stumble towards
“Could”, “Would”, and “Might”.
There’s nothing I can do;
My heart thinks it’s common sense.
My blood has traces of you,
Though we exist in the past tense.
The air hasn’t settled since you left,
Ribcage rattled, heart cleft.

Don’t kiss me; I taste like shattered glass. My past isn't your fault, but hell, if I don’t go out of my way to make it seem like that. I can't help but feel like I'm failing you. Maybe we're failing each other. Maybe we’re both failing, separately. I’m starting to accept the possibility that one day, I will hear love songs and think of someone that is not you. You stain every chord of my favorite songs; it can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
The English language is shifty and inarticulate; love is too many things. I can’t tell if this is love, or if I just want it to be.

I don't know how to make this okay.
I know you don’t know what to say.

Really, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting, looking for answers in your fragmented breaths. I’ve spent much more time than I’m proud of trying to look at you through a rearview mirror instead of a foggy window. I’m a lot better at missing you than I am at caring for you, or even treating you like a person, and that’s probably because when I miss you, you don’t have to be around to witness it.
What I'm trying to say is, I hummed songs when you were around and tricked myself into believing that you knew the words. I don’t think you were listening, but if you are now, know this: You are the cup of coffee I drink at 7pm when I’m searching for a legal way to make myself suffer. When you touch me, I feel like I’m being run over, and not even lethally. You undo everything in your wake and, quite frankly, I can’t survive with my veins strewn about the floor anymore. We’re both at fault for this, but you’re making it so much worse. It’ll be better if you just go.