I don't know how to run without my legs getting caught under me, but it's all I ever do.
Cross states Meet old enemies
and former lovers in the backrooms with the baggies of insanity.
Hit the floor, not breathing. Always where I end up
in the back of an EMT truck, never enough
When I was a kid,
I wanted to move somewhere dreary and cold.
A place I could write and isolate in my fantasies.
I'm here, head in the sand, hands in the snow.
Always coming up empty and going down for more,
he breathes into my skin and lights me up again. Never lasts for long. Usually, my knuckles are just tense. And he's sitting at my bedside again, waiting for the sickness to end and my blurry eyes to sparkle again.
I can't tell him everything, like how I am my father's daughter. I am full of brutality and rage, and I am incapable of staying alive, not without a nightcap or two. Or three, and how do I tell the man with diamond rings and soft brown eyes that I am not something beautifully broken?
I am empty.
A self-infliction of a girl. And I will hurt him. Not intentional, but painful nonetheless.
My boy is everything good to me. He is the hope that I keep diminishing. And I wish he could see that he needs to leave.
